Manacles of the Mind
by Celine Mariamo
Summary: When Dean shows up during Sam's second year at Stanford University saying a hunt didn't go very well and he needs time to relax, warning bells start to go off in Sam's head. Whatever secrets Dean doesn't want to talk about...they can't be good.
1. Chapter 1

Sam leaned back against the smooth bark of the tree, one long leg stretched in front of him. The other bent at the knee slightly. He enjoyed the slant of sunlight that hit his face, until it moved and shone in his eyes. He squinted and moved his head sideways, listening to the thread of the conversation around him. The study group had taken a turn into philosophical debate.

Grayden narrowed his eyes. "I'm not certain why ontological categorization has anything to do with the argument."

"Well," Sam rebutted quietly. "Ontology has a lot more uses than Renee Des Cartes and the question of self. There's practical applications too."

Dean Winchester made his way into the park, creating a ripple around him, as though someone had dropped a sharp edged rock into a still pond. Everything about him, from the popped collar of his leather jacket to the ragged jeans and biker boots said 'bad ass' loud and clear. Curious eyes tracked him as he prowled past with a loose-hipped, cocky swagger.

He dropped down onto his ass at the edge of the group of students and looked around, an easy grin on his face.

Sam felt the abrupt change in the atmosphere surrounding them and looked up. He broke off from his argument with a startled. _"D.. Dean!?"_ His posture tensed as if he were going to stand up. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey Sam- _my._ " The deep, affable bellow cut through the quiet conversation.

Sam's reaction was automatic. "It's Sam."

"Dude!" Dean raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Is that any way to greet your long lost brother?"

Sam pulled himself to his feet and stepped out of the circle.

"Sam..." A well-groomed male turned around with an air of disdain to get a better look. "Who is this? You know him?"

There was an audible whisper of surprise among a couple of the students. "Did you know Sam had a brother?"

Dean's grin slipped slightly, a hint of tension stretching it tight. He stayed seated on the floor, cross-legged, waiting for Sam's next move.

"Dean." Sam ran a hand through his hair nervously and looked around, uncomfortable at the disturbance they'd caused. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd say hi to my little brother and his... _friends."_ Dean directed a cheeky grin and a wink at the curvy blonde opposite him.

"Oh, you didn't say you were...umm." Sam edged along the outside of the circle.

"Jeez, am I making people uncomfortable here... I walk in on something important?" The goofy smile Dean directed around the group was deliberately non-confrontational.

"We're just studying...but you're here now..." Sam gestured with his head to signal Dean to get away from group. "So, I guess I can stop for a while." He sent him a conciliatory smile.

Dean raised an expressive eyebrow. "Kind of you, Sam," he drawled. "Being as I spent two days driving to get here."

A shade of guilt passed over Sam's face as he grew aware that his greeting had been less than warm. "I didn't expect you, that's all."

Dean's tone was deceptively mild. "Do I need an appointment now?"

The younger Winchester huffed miserably and shook his head. "Of course you don't need an appointment, Dean."

"You're not so good at answering your texts, so I figured I'd swing by. Got a coupla days off."

Sam shot a nervous glance around the group, hoping they hadn't heard. "My phone is acting up..."

His brother watched him from his spot on the lawn. "You gonna introduce me?"

"Ummm yeah, of course." Sam took a deep breath and ran through the names of the people in the group impossibly fast. Too fast for Dean to remember, even if he'd taken the time to care. "Umm, everyone, this is my brother, Dean."

"You never mentioned a brother, Sam." Grayden pressed.

"Hey." The affable grin was back. "Whatchya studyin'?"

"lt's complicated." Sam replied. "Academic. You'd be bored out of your mind."

Dean kept his expression neutral with some difficulty, trying to pass it off as a joke. "I'm his secret brother. He likes to lock me in the attic and only take me out at night." No-one smiled. A note of bitterness entered Dean's voice. "Right, of course I wouldn't be. I mean what do I know about academics?"

"It's not that...it's just not your thing, right?"

"I dunno; I like to study anatomy." Dean's eye contact with the blonde was a blatant flirt. The blonde blushed a little at the innuendo. Dean sent her an appreciative smile.

"Dean!" Sam warned sharply. Then recovered, changed the subject. "Hey man, how about we go and get some coffee, huh?"

"Coffee? Yeah. Sure." He rose with fluid ease and brushed off the seat of his pants.

Sam tucked his chin, hiding behind his mop of bangs. Suddenly small and withdrawn. He lifted a hand to group. "Umm, I'll see you later guys." His turned and walked away.

Dean matched the long strides, reaching up to pull Sam under his arm in an affectionate, rough, half- hug. He ruffled his hair. "How are ya?"

"Dean," Sam pulled away, glanced behind him a little self consciously before he turned to face him. "I'm fine. What's wrong?"

"Nothin'." Sam's embarrassment was obvious; Dean glanced back quickly at the group. "Stuffy bunch, huh?"

Sam shrugged. "They're nice. You just need to get to know them." He looked at his brother's face, picked up the weariness behind the smile. "What's up? You wouldn't just turn up without...?" He felt a weird little stab of anxiety in his gut. "Is everything okay?"

"Seem like a stuffy bunch. Except that blonde. Fine piece of tail there. You getting some college tail up here, Sammy?" Dean jostled him in a good-natured way.

"Be quiet. They'll hear you!"

His brother ignored him. "These girls, man..."

"...Are out of your league, Dean." He responded flatly.

Dean pulled up short, a look of astonishment on his face. "Excuse me? No one's outta my league."

Sam kept going. "These girls are. About two million bucks out."

"Professional player here." A waggle of the eyebrow accompanied his rakish grin as he jogged to catch up with Sam's long legs. "They all like a little bad boy, Sammy."

Sam's lips tightened. "If you want to chase rich girls Dean, do it somewhere else. Not where I'm left to clean up your mess."

"Easy." Dean's pace slowed a little. "Easy. Jeez."

"I'm trying to make this work, man." _Please don't fuck it up for me,_ he left unspoken.

"This place has put a stick up your ass." Some of the fun had gone out of the moment.

Sam looked genuinely hurt for a minute. "Why is it so hard for you to see I'm happy here?"

"This is happy?" Dean gazed around, taking in the manicured lawns, the quiet groups of young people.

"Yeah." Sam replied, taking in the calm and quiet. "Yes, this is happy. This is a good place, good people. I can make something of myself here."

"Gotta watch every word you say, every step you take? That's your idea of joy." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry man, I don't get it."

"You wouldn't. Just accept it's the right choice for me. Can you do that?"

A little frown creased the skin between Dean's eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean? I wouldn't?"

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "We like different things that's all." He fell silent for a minute. "So why ARE you here, Dean?"

The frown spread a little. "I need a reason?"

"No." Sam said with a small bite to the tone. "You usually have one though." He went quiet, still walking.

Dean dropped his chin, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The worried crease of Sam's eyebrows formed again. "Is everything okay, man?"

"You look good, dude." Dean flicked a quick glance in his direction.

The boyish face broke into a smile. So like a peek of sun behind clouds, Sam's smile. "Uh thanks. You too." He looked over his sibling, really checking. Taking in the stress lines in Dean's eyes and his walk. The slight scuffs on the back of his neck. The bit of shadow that looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days.

His brother recognized the scrutiny for what it was. "Sam, everything's fine. Wanted to see you."

"You just finished a hunt?"

"Yeah. Yeah, nasty bastard down in New Orleans." Dean kept his eyes down, the words carefully guarded.

"Huh?" Sam eyed him carefully, gauging the response. "Get him?"

"Yeah." Dean scrubbed his hands over his stubble. "Got him."

Sam's voice went into concerned mode. "Are you sure you're okay dude. You look kinda... tired?"

"Am tired. Just drove two days, Sammy."

"Oh yeah, you said." Sam cleared his throat, suddenly a little awkward. "So... what brought you up this way? You heading somewhere?"

The answer was quiet. "Nah. Wanted to see you." The green eyes watched Sam intently. "That so hard to believe?"

Sam shook his head. "It's good to see you. Just didn't expect it, that's all."

"Nice surprise, I hope?"

"Yeah." A grin broke across Sam's face, forming his dimples. "Let's get that coffee?"

"Sure." Dean paused, swallowed. "Time to get outta Dad's hair for a few days."

Sam scowled at the name. "You're okay, right? He's not...?"

"He's not what?"

Sam scuffed his shoe. "You know... not getting in your face too much?"

Dean huffed. "Oh. That. Well he has his moments. But mostly we're good."

"Good, yeah, that's good. So umm, how long you staying for?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Hoping to crash on your couch for a few days? Wait... do you have a couch?"

"Uh," Sam seemed a little taken aback by the declaration. "Yeah I've got a couch... it's just I'm kinda busy, you know, studying... and my course load is like stupid difficult this semester. "

Dean brushed the flimsy excuse aside, his jaw a little tight. "That's okay. You don't have to entertain me that much. I can find stuff to do."

"Don't want you to be bored..." he trailed off. "What stuff?" Another unspoken accusation that whatever Dean decided to _do-_ it better not include one of his classmates.

His brother stared around, eyes wide. "This place is real fancy. I always forget until I'm up here."

"Yes. Yes it is."

Sam was clearly still waiting for a response. Dean shrugged again. "I dunno. Watch TV. Grab a drink at a bar. Stuff."

"Right. There's not that much to do here, actually."

Dean watched a girl pass, appreciation on his face. "Seems like a lot of things to do here."

"Can you get your mind out of the gutter for a minute, and tell me why you're here?"

Dean whistled softly. "Sam, if you are not bangin' one of these girls, I'm going to be very disappointed in you."

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "Why are you HERE! It's been months. You don't just turn up, out of the blue."

"You know what?" Dean spun on his heel to face his brother, anger flaring on his face. "You obviously don't want me here. I'm sorry I stopped by."

"What!" Sam's expression betrayed his horror. "I didn't say that! Of course I'm pleased to see you, it's just... it's not like you..." he softened. "You can stay for a bit man, I was just worried that's all."

Dean waved him off. "Don't wanna hear it." He was already heading across the grass to the gleaming bulk of the Impala.

"Dean! Hey hold on! Don't do that!"

His brother halted. "Do what?"

"Come walking in, and then just walk out again! I'm just surprised is all."

"Look... I can take a hint. You don't want me here." Dean inclined his head in the direction of the park. "You're embarrassed to even have your friends see me. I get it Sam. It's fine." He fished in his pocket for his keys, trying and failing to hide the hurt on his face.

"It's not that!" Sam took Dean's arm. "Come on man, I'll show you the couch." He ducked his head and looked from under his bangs. "Maybe we can have a few beers later, huh?"

Dean stared at him, evaluating the situation. His voice was suddenly weary. "If you don't want me here, just say it, okay?"

Sam's eyebrows knit together. "Course I want to see you, man." He gave him the puppy eyes. "C'mon."

Dean's shoulders seemed to sag. "I'm real tired. I'll just crash for a few hours, if that's okay, dude?"

Sam saw the vulnerability. "Of course it's okay, come on."

"You still living on campus, or do you have a different place?" Dean looked suddenly small, lost somehow, bundled up in his layers of clothing and leather jacket.

Sam kept his hand on his brother's arm. "Got an apartment now, just round the block. It's not much, but my own space you know..." He smiled, a touch of pride lighting his eyes.

"You got a room mate?"

Sam nodded, noted that Dean seemed a little shaky. "Just the one, but he won't be back until tomorrow. You can crash as long as you want, dude. Really."

"'Kay. Thanks." Long fingers stuttered through the spiky hair. "Could use it." With the earlier façade of affability now completely erased, the lines of fatigue on Dean's face were clearly visible. "New Orleans didn't go so well." That admission alone set alarm bells ringing.

Sam gave a worried frown. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah. Nothing too bad. Little busted-up."

"You'd tell me, right?" Sam pressed.

"Sure." Dean sighed, suddenly exhausted beyond belief.

 **TBC...Please drop a review and feed the hungry fic writers. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Sam looked unsure, turned to face Dean. "So you bringing the Impala to my place or leaving her here?"

"This place walking distance from here? You got a place to park? Otherwise I'll leave her where I got her."

"It's not far at all. Just around the corner." Sam shrugged noncommittally. "Could probably park outside the building though. Your call, man."

Dean fiddled with the keys for a moment, uncharacteristically indecisive. "I'll leave her then. Just need to crash and lie down right now. "

Sam surveyed Dean's empty hands. "You got a bag?"

With a little smile, Dean suddenly pulled his younger brother under his arm again, giving him a brief hug. "It's good to see ya. Bag? Yeah." He gestured vaguely at the back seat of the Impala.

Sam grinned sheepishly, and slapped his brother on the back with genuine warmth, then ducked down, careful not to bang his head on the car door. He grabbed a duffle off the back seat. "This it?"

Dean nodded, looking pleased at his brother's brief display of affection. He made no move to take the duffle. "So... Sammy. How you adjusting to civilian life?"

"It's good." Sam cocked his head, pursed his lips, considering. "It's great, really. But a bit strange at first...no monsters lurking anywhere..."

Oddly though, Dean didn't even seem to be listening. He put the keys into the Impala's door. "You know what? Let's just drive there." He swung open the driver's door with its customary squawk and dropped heavily into the seat. "Hop in."

Sam's surprise was ill hidden. "Okay." He ducked in and slammed the door. The passenger seat fit the angle of his body just like he remembered, like slipping on a well broken in pair of shoes.. "Just up here past the stoplight."

The Impala growled its way along the wide boulevard. Dean glanced across. "Weird to not be moving around all the time? You get bored in one place?"

"No. It's actually really great." Sam's smile lit up his face, white teeth, boyish grin. Dimples. He settled into the seat and put his arm over the back of it. "Good to be back in Baby though..."

A genuine smile spread over Dean's face. "Yeah. She's a good girl."

Sam gave him another indulgent grin.

"Never lets her Daddy down."

Sam raised an eyebrow playfully. "That's a little TMI!"

"What?"

He gave a mischievous little snort. "Nothing."

"Oh… Yeah." Dean smirked. "I thought I was the one with the dirty mind here."

Sam chuckled and looked away. "Hey, just pull over here."

His brother was still smiling. "What are they doing to you, huh? Corrupting my Sammy?"

"I survived you, Dean. And it's Sam."

"Why Sam all of a sudden?"

"It's my name." Sam insisted. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

His brother grinned at him. "Sure you are."

Sam ignored him and got out of the impala. He leaned back in to grab the bag. His thumb scraped the black leather and he felt a dried crust come off on his hand. He jerked it away and looked. He knew the texture and sight of dried blood all too well. He squinted at the seat. "What's that?!"

"Huh. Must be mine? Dunno." A shadow passed over Dean's face.

Sam wiped his hand on his jeans. "There's something you're not telling me and I don't like it." He grabbed the duffle. "Let's just get inside."

Dean followed slowly, muttering to himself with self-reproach. "Thought I'd cleaned her out better than that. I'm sorry, Baby."

"What's been going on Dean?" Sam caught the monologue. "Dammit, forget the goddamn car for a minute. What about you? Where's Dad when all this is going on."

"Dad was with me. It was just a…" A haunted look appeared in Dean's eyes. His voice faded. "…a real bad hunt."

Sam slowed his approach to the building as he climbed the steps. It was an old multilevel house, converted into several student apartments. He gave Dean a surreptitious glance while he fumbled with his keys. He tried to resist the urge to press him too far too fast. It always stressed Dean to do so. He swung the door open and placed the duffle out of way. His shoes squeaked on the floor.

Dean spotted the futon as soon as he stepped through the door. "Oh man!" He flopped on it with a groan. "Perfect."

Sam put on water to boil for coffee and sat on the chair opposite the futon. He patted Dean's boot. "So, you gonna tell me about it?"

Dean ignored him, stretching out like a big cat, his eyes drifting closed. "You got a beer?"

Sam sighed. "Sure." He got back up and grabbed one out of the fridge and tossed it to Dean.

"Throw me that pillow over there."

Sam picked up the errant throw pillow and walked it over.

His brother tucked it alongside him and opened the beer, taking a sip without opening his eyes. "Thanks, dude."

Sam hovered anxiously for a moment over Dean's recumbent form. "I've got a good med kit..." he said casually. "if you need it."

"What are you doing?" Dean squinted at him, irritated, then closed his eyes again. "Don't need a med kit."

"Worrying!" Sam shot back defensively. "I'm worried about you, man!"

"Really." The word positively dripped sarcasm.

"What? Of course I worry about you!"

"If you were so worried about me, maybe you'd call me once in a while."

Stung by the rebuke, Sam looked away. "Maybe I don't want to hear that you're okay, when it's obvious from your voice that you're not."

"Whatever."

Sam's eyebrows knitted together, his voice earnest. "It scares me, Dean. Knowing what you're doing. Knowing what could happen. You won't even talk to me now. And you're right here!"

Dean's eyes blinked open as he looked up, aggrieved. "I'm talking. What's it sound like I'm doing? Singing?"

"You're making a noise. But there's no sense coming out. Just smoke and mirrors, man."

"Mirrors my ass!"

"That's the trouble with you, you never tell the truth, you always try to hide things." Sam huffed, tapped Dean's boot. "It's bad enough, dealing with this crap, without having to get through your goddamn walls!"

"Mebbe my walls are there for a reason. Stop using your Harvard-educated psychological bullshit on me, Sam."

Sam looked deflated. "You don't need walls around me, dude. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean swallowed, his throat jumping. "I need walls. Around you most of all, man."

Sam didn't conceal his expression of hurt surprise.

"Don't give me the puppy dog eyes."

He didn't reply, just looked up at him from under bangs, so they were at full power.

"You can try to look like a Golden Retriever all you want, but I know you bite." Dean watched Sam from under his lashes, his eyes a glimmer of green in the sunlight filtering through the blinds.

Sam smiled a little, but his heart wasn't in it. "I don't want to fight."

"Really? Because it looks like I drove two days to see you, showed up in a good mood and that's pretty much what we've been doing, bickering and going at it like we always do."

Sam dropped his head and sighed. "Let's just stop, okay? Hey you must be hungry. Let me see what's in the fridge."

Without any warning, Dean seemed to come to a decision. He rushed the words out before he could change his mind. "Ike's dead."

The statement seemed to hang in the quiet room, changing everything by its very presence. Dean pushed on, sounding a little winded. "Remember him? Dad's old buddy?"

"What..!" The breath left Sam as if someone had punched him. "What happened?"

"New Orleans." A wealth of pain lay behind the words.

"Were you there?"

Flatly. "Yeah. It's probably his blood on the Impala's seat."

Sam visibly winced. "That's bad. What happened?"

Dean turned his gaze to the ceiling, tipping his head back on the futon. "There was a real nasty poltergeist. Ike was in town with us, and... the hunt didn't go so well." Dean's voice caught, grated. "He got cut up pretty bad."

Sam shook his head sadly, reminded of why he wanted to be in Stanford in the first place. "Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah. He's a bear to be with right now though. You know how he is when he gets sad."

Sam's voice was quiet. "Yeah," he said. "I do. How about you, you okay?"

Dean rolled the beer bottle between his hands, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Hey... Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam reached out and touched his brother's wrist. A gentle reassuring brush of fingers. "You're not okay."

The long line of Dean's throat jumped again as he swallowed convulsively.

Sam's gaze was intense. "Hey..." he took hold of Dean's forearm.

"Sorry to dump this shit on you. Didn't want to. Just didn't know where else to go." Dean blurted; he was clearly avoiding eye contact. At close quarters the unhealthy pallor of his skin was suddenly obvious.

Sam kept hold of him, gave him a little shake for emphasis. "I wouldn't want you go to anywhere else." His fingers squeezed. "I'm here if you need me, you know. Just cause I'm not in the life anymore, doesn't mean I'm not here for my big brother."

"I was just gonna come up here and blow off some steam. I wasn't even going to tell you… I just needed to get away."

"You need to unload sometimes dude, you can't keep everything locked up like you do." Sam took a breath, steeling himself in case he didn't like the answer. "Did something happen to you, in New Orleans?"

Dean shifted uneasily, his eyes everywhere but on Sam.

The anxiety touched up a notch as Sam prepared to throw a rock into the pond and disturb the water. "Just tell me man, please, I need to know what's going on with you."

"I'm fine. I'm here. I'm moving. I'm in one piece talking to you, right?"

"You're moving, yeah, but you're not okay." The worry crept into Sam's voice. "You're so not okay. You can talk to me man."

"I wish you'd never left." The words tumbled out, almost as though Dean couldn't control them.

Sam drew in a sharp intake of breath. "I know." He refused to let the old guilt creep up on him, not now. Not when he'd done so well here. "But that's not what this is about."

"It's not?" Dean rolled his head sideways, looking at him at last.

"No. It's about what's wrong with _you_ right now, Unless..." Sam's stomach dropped. "Did something happen to you because I wasn't there?"

"Don't think the mistake that was made woulda happened… if you'd been there."

The unwelcome guilt began to coalesce slowly. "If Dad was hunting with Ike, who had _your_ back..." Sam paused, feeling the knot in his gut tighten a bit. "What mistake?"

Dean grimaced. "It was just the three of us."

Sam's voice was measured, quiet. "What happened? What happened to you?"

The words were directly contradicted by the tremble in Dean's jaw. "Nothin' really."

Sam slipped next to him, edging onto the futon carefully, as if Dean was a wild animal he might spook. "Hey, you can tell me, it's okay." He said earnestly. "Let me help."

"You can't help, Sam. It's over, right? Done with!"

"No, No it's not over." Sam was starting to lose his measured calm, Dean's distress ping ponging him back and forth emotionally. "It's there on your face. In your eyes. I can feel it oozing out of you. You've been there for me my whole life... let me help you now, please."

"Sam you can't help." Dean sat upright. "Jesus. Stop mother-henning me!"

Sam's open face betrayed his hurt, then slid into a look of resignation.

"And don't look at me like that!"

"You didn't drive all the way up here just to sit on my couch, Dean." Sam stood up, tossed another pillow at Dean's leg. It bounced off. "But hey, whatever, right?"

"Yeah I did!" Dean dipped his chin, fingers picking at the futon. "I just wanted to be near you, okay?!"

Sam's face ran through a range of micro-expressions, surprise, worried, somewhat pleased that he was Dean's source of comfort when he was thrown off balance. His voice was soft. "Well, I'm here. M'here."

The door bell rang. Dean eyed the door, scrubbed his hand over his face wearily. "You expecting company?"

"Dammit, I forgot... " Sam got up and went to the door, spoke loudly over a gaggle of laughter and drunken shouts.

"Let 'em in. I don't mind company." Dean's low voice carried across the room, Sam's ear automatically picking it out of the background noise.

"No. Look guys. Find another place to crash. Logan isn't here and I'm spending some time with my brother, okay?"

There was a bit of a protest and Sam's tone grew firmer. "I said no." He shut the door.

"Who was it?"

"Just some of my room mate's friends... doesn't matter I'll catch em another time."

Dean looked puzzled. "They coulda come in." He smirked a little. "Especially if it's a cute girl."

"I can see them any day Dean. You, not so much." He gave a snort. "You're not up to cute girls right now."

"I'm always _up_ for cute girls." The smirk became more genuine. "You should know that by now."

Sam shook his head in mock disapproval. "Pizza...okay, Ben left some here..." He moved to the fridge.

"How about you? You got a girl?" Dean leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees.

Sam's face flushed, his back to Dean as he rummaged through the barren refrigerator. "Well, there's this one... I dunno, maybe."

"Go for it. What do ya have to lose?" Dean snorted with subdued laughter. "Except maybe your virginity or something."

Sam blushed deeper. "I'm keeping her away from you."

Dean chuckled again, the sound cutting off abruptly as he flinched. He waved off Sam's unspoken query. "Back is sore, that's all."

Sam's face shifted to concern.

"I think I'm getting too old for this shit." Dean snorted, annoyed at himself for revealing his discomfort.

"You're not old." Sam grabbed at an empty cardboard box with a left over pizza crust in it. "What happened to your back?"

Dean shrugged. He stood, slipped out of his jacket and pulled up his shirt carefully. "Can you see anythin' back there? I can't get a good look."

Sam abandoned the box and walked around to see. He sucked in a horrified breath.

"What?" Dean craned his neck, trying to see his own back.

"That doesn't look good... " Sam's hand hovered over the multiple welts. They were swollen, bloody. "What the hell happened?"

"I dunno." Dean frowned. "Maybe when I got thrown against the wall? The poltergeist wasn't friendly. He, he…" The words trailed off, Dean's frown deepening.

"Why do you always do this? Why don't you just say it? We always have to go through this before I can help you."

"Go through what?" Dean eyed him with confusion.

" _This,_ " Sam waved his hand dramatically. "Deflection. .. Never mind." He got up to grab a cloth from a cupboard in the little kitchenette. "What about this poltergeist?" He asked, kneeling and digging through a stack clean of washcloths. Sam wet it and walked back over.

Dean's voice shook. "I'm so confused and mixed up I don't even know Sam." He hissed as the cloth touched the welts.

"Sorry..." Sam gently stroked the abused skin, wincing in sympathy. "Dean, umm, this looks like you got hit with something, not thrown against a wall?" His tone was kind. "What did he do to you, why are you feeling confused?"

"It got in my head… or something. I just..." Dean's jaw worked, a light sweat popping out on his forehead.

Sam kept working. "It hurt you."

Dean's voice caught again, going a little higher. "I mean, can poltergeist do that? I thought they just moved shit around?"

Sam kept his voice gentle. "Do what, Dean?"

His brother stared into thin air, biting his lip. "Get in your head? Make you think stuff or see stuff?"

"Maybe..." Sam dabbed the cloth on Dean's skin gently, almost soothingly. "What did you see?"

Dean went very still, only the rush of his breath, in and out, in and out, through the white pinch of his nostrils.

"Hey, come on," Sam urged. "You can tell me, it's just the two of us... no one else will ever know." Sam reached around and touched Dean's arm gently.

Unexpectedly, his brother flinched away.

Sam jerked his hand back. "Hey," he soothed. "It's okay, it's just me."

Dean kept his eyes down, voice hoarse. "It had me for about a day I think. Maybe longer? I'm kinda fuzzy on that."

Sam let the pause linger for a long time before he urged. "Go on... m'here..." He put the cloth down on the floor, let the shirt drop down over his brother's back.

"I got there before Dad and Ike..."

"Yeah?"

"That thing was strong; he threw me down the stairs into the basement and tied me up with some old wires." Dean shuddered.

Sam gave a pained look. Closed his eyes, upset that Dean had suffered. "God."

"When I didn't text back, Dad knew there was trouble, so he headed over and brought Ike for back up." Dean frowned, fumbling through the fog obscuring the details. He spoke slowly. "It was light when I went in, but it was dark when they got there."

"You were there for hours then?"

Dean sounded bewildered, unsure. "Yeah. Had to be."

"What happened to you, Dean?"

Dean bent forwards, wrapping his arms around his middle, almost as though he was trying to hold himself together. The half-formed memories made him shudder, the ripple visible on the exposed skin of his arms. "There was this weird feeling like somethin' was touching me, crawling down my throat. It felt weird, cold... handsy." Anxiety pinched at his expression.

Sam gave a shudder. "Oh man... " his tone was sympathetic. He was so good at that. "I should have been there..."

Dean bit his lip hard, shaking his head, not seeming to be aware of the blood now edging his teeth. "I don't wanna talk about it. I don't know what happened. It's all so head-trippy man. Like a bad acid trip."

"You're scaring me."

"Dad and Ike came in to pull me outta there; Ike got cut up really bad. Bled out in the Impala… I think... It's kinda foggy." Fear seemed to be leaking out of Dean's pores.

"You _think_..." Sam asked. "So you were too out of it to know... _This,_ " he gestured to Dean's abused back..." _this_ isn't a head trip. Where else are you hurt? Did Dad check you over? ... Are you hurt somewhere else?"

"I dunno. I think I'm okay." Dean's voice rose. "It had to be a head trip!"

"What if it wasn't?" Sam pushed. "What do you think he did? I need to know if you're okay, Dean."

"I don't wanna talk about it!" The growl was wrung out of Dean's chest. Sam could see his legs shaking even through the thick material of his jeans.

Sam switched tactics, reining himself in. "Okay," he said soothingly, "just calm down, okay?"

"I gotta go." Dean grabbed for his keys, a look of near panic on his face.

"You need to sit down, you're not looking so good. Let me take care of that welt. And you need to sleep, it's safe here, I've got your back." He grabbed for keys out of Dean's hand. "You go out there now and you'll crash or something."

"Hey! Give 'em back." His brother made a grab for the keys, his movements unusually sluggish.

"No." Sam stood on his tiptoes and held them out of his reach, his superior height made the task easy.

"Fuck you!" It was born out of fear and they both knew it.

"Whatever. You're not running out of here like that."

Panic flared in Dean's eyes. "I gotta GO. I can't be here right now."

Sam breathed a weary sigh. "Okay I get it, I do. But you can't run from what's in your own mind." He slipped the keys into his pocket. "Stay here a couple of days, get some rest, we'll have a few beers, watch some movies..."

"Don't try and trap me, Sam."

A resigned weary hurt shone in Sam's eyes. "I'm not trapping you, Dean."

"Sammy…" Dean was unraveling, right in front of him. "I feel like I'm coming outta my skin." He looked close to tears.

"You're in no state to go out there!" Sam took the broad shoulders in his hands. "Dammit Dean, I'm here, I want to help, don't push me away."

 **Alice, ngregory763, 1PocketElf, bagelcat1, Dear Hart, shadowhuntingDD, Babyreaper, Lauraline94, MckyD, suicidalunicorn, Minion, Iwokeup, Wayward Inspirations, Tempermental18, Fanpire and our guest reviewers...thank you SO much for the feedback! Makes us so happy. If you want more to read in the meantime, check out our individual stories, _The Aspen Spirit_ by Mariamo and _Missing the Mark_ by celinenaville. As always, drop us a line!**


	3. Chapter 3

_"You're in no state to go out there!" Sam took the broad shoulders in his hands. "Dammit Dean, I'm here, I want to help, don't push me away."_

Dean stepped back, the sound of his breath suddenly harsh.

Sam ran his fingers through his shaggy hair in distress. "Why can't you just trust me!"

There was a healthy dose of self-recrimination in Dean's voice. "I do trust you, Sam. But I should know better than to bring my work home."

Sam looked him in the eye, his semblance of calm breaking. "I've been around this shit my whole life! You don't need to hide anything from me, not from ME!" The impassioned plea stuttered a bit as Sam drew breath. "Trust me to help. Too little, too late, I know, but let me help you. I'm not letting you drive off like this!"

"How can you help? Ike's dead, Sam! Pulling MY ass out of the fire." Dean slammed his hand against the wall, dropping his forehead against it briefly. "Dad's pissed I went in without back up..."

"Fuck Dad! What happened to you! Why won't you just fucking come out and say it?"

"I shouldn't have dragged your ass into all this!""

"For chrissakes! Just let it out, talk to me!"

Dean spun around, frustration pulling at his features. "I AM talking! I told you everythin' I remember!"

Sam shook his head with a huff of breath and turned his shoulder to him. "Apart from what really fucking scared you, yeah."

Visibly upset, his brother moved shakily to the kitchen sink. "I think I'm gonna barf in your sink, Sammy." He dropped his forearms onto the edge of the sink, swallowing hard.

Sam waved dismissively. "Go ahead man, I don't care about the sink." He turned to look at him and saw how badly he looked suddenly. Sam abruptly softened, gentled.

Dean kept his back to his brother, his voice a little choked. "I'm so sorry."

Sam rushed over to him, and carefully put his hand on the trembling forearm. "Dean... hey...Why are you sorry? You've done nothing wrong..."

"Ike was such a good guy."

The sound of Ike's name in the past tense jolted Sam on a deep level. "I know," he replied somberly.

Dean dragged his hands over his face. "I shouldn't have come here. Here you were, all happy and normal…"

"No." Sam tried to catch Dean's eye, his voice in soft counselor mode. "I'm glad you're here Dean, really, I am. I want you to be able to come to me."

Dean didn't seem to have heard him. "...And I got to tell you about cleaning Ike's blood off the back seat."

"I don't mind. I should have been there for you..."

Dean dragged in a couple of heavy breaths through his nose, leaning further over the sink.

"Oh Dean..." Sam's eyes welled. "I'm so sorry man, I should have had your back."

"I'm not going to bother you anymore after this, okay. I'm just bringing shit to you."

"Don't say that, don't. Please don't say that." Sam leaned one hand on the cupboard and watched his brother's profile, peering in close.

"How is this helping you? One minute you're sitting under a tree with a bunch of friends, studying freakin' rocket science or whatever and the next minute your brother is puking in your sink."

Sam gave an unamused little smile, dimples appearing. "You can come barf in my sink any time you want..."

Despite himself, Dean gave a broken little laugh.

The grin deepened. "I'll always keep a sink for you to barf in."

Almost as though he'd been given permission, Dean retched, rising up on his toes with the force of it. Sam took a step back and watched helplessly.

Dean spat, fingers shaking on the edge of the sink. He took a couple of deep breaths. "Okay. Okay 'm good, I think."

"You need to lie down." Sam grabbed the clean dishcloth hanging from the stove.

"Yeah." Dean wiped at his mouth. "Yeah I do." The admission alone told its own story.

"Come on." Sam took his arm, bracing himself to support some of his brother's weight. "I'm glad you said that. If you'd tried to drive off now you would have had to drive right the fuck over the top of me."

"I can't talk to Dad about this shit, y'know?"

"I know." Sam kept a hold of Dean's arm until he was sure he trusted his brother's balance. "I'm right here Dean. Any time you need me." He led him to the tiny bedroom and let him go with a watchful eye like a parent observing a toddler. "I'll be taking the couch for a while."

"A real mattress." Dean gazed at the clean bedding with gratitude.

Sam's dimples appeared again. "Yeah."

"Don't think I'll be able to sleep on it." Dean gave a tired little smile. "Too comfy."

Sam's tone was sure. "You'll sleep."

Without warning, Dean pulled him into a fierce hug. Sam's breath hitched in a startled inhale before he relaxed into it and brought his arm around Dean, mindful of his injuries. "Been wanting to do that all day..."

His brother held on briefly, his fingers digging into Sam's back. "Shoulda done it."

"You too, man."

Dean huffed. "I did. You tried to wiggle out of it in front of your buddies."

Sam laughed. "I'm sorry, about that, won't happen again. "

"Better not." The words were without anger.

"I dunno what was wrong with me..." Sam leaned into the hug, eyes closing. "Missed you, Dean."

Dean patted him on the back and pulled away, dropping onto the bed on his stomach. "Just let me sleep for like... oh 18 hours, 'kay?" He smiled wearily into the pillow. "You wanna list of what's wrong with you?"

"No," the reply was good natured. "I don't. We'll go get some food when you get up okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Exhaustion and the crash after the earlier adrenaline rush were dragging Dean into sleep already.

Sam leaned over, pulled Deans boots off with a tug and tossed them aside with a thump as they hit the wood floor. He threw the coverlet over Dean. "M'right here, man."

"You done good." Dean muttered into the sheet.

Sam straightened up. "Huh?" His brows rose into a query.

"Miss you though. Lots."

The sorrow flitted over the boyish features."Yeah... miss you too y'know."

His brother's eyes were closed. "Sure."

"Yeah." Sam fluffed an errant pillow a bit. "Lots, man." He tossed it over to land near Dean's head. "You get some rest..."

Dean looked like a kid, already snoring softly, drooling onto the pillow. Sam watched him for a moment, affection and worry battling across for dominance across his face. He leaned forward and tentatively brushed his fingers over the top of Dean's artfully tousled hair. "Night Dean."

 **The calm before the storm. Next chapter to follow soon. Thanks for the reviews, guys.**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean awoke slowly, still feeling exhausted and temporarily bewildered by his surroundings. He flailed around awkwardly, everything sore and tight after hours of lying prone. The clock on the nightstand toppled and hit the floor with a loud bang.

Sam bolted awake from his cramped sleep on the futon. "Dean?"

His brother coughed, half awake. "Sam?"

"I heard a sound, are you okay?" The voice was groggy.

Sleepy, startled green eyes turned in his direction. "Sam!" Surprise was followed immediately by the shadows of remembrance. "Uh sorry, knocked the clock..."

"Oh..." Sam fell back and held his head. "Ugh. Startled me awake. What time is it?"

"Um... 7 mebbe?" Dean scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

"Right..." Sam said blearily. Then rose up in a panic. "Fuck! I have a 7 am class! Shit." He cast around for a shirt, didn't see one.

"Right. You better get goin' then..." Dean pushed himself up slowly onto his feet, catching at the wall as he swayed. He shook his head to clear it, wincing a little. "You'll be back later, right?"

"It's 7:45." Sam knocked into the TV and glanced at the time on the digital readout of the DVD player. "I missed it. Dammit!"

Guilt flooded over his brother's face. "I'm sorry dude. I shouldn't have kept yapping…" He trailed off miserably.

Sam switched gears. "No." He said, regaining his composure. "No, that's okay, man." He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "It's my fault. Shoulda set the clock."

"Mebbe you can catch the end of it or somethin'?" Dean pulled himself more upright, squaring his shoulders a bit. "Don't hang around for me; I'll get some coffee and watch TV."

"It ends at 8:00."

"Uh." Dean wilted a little, looking awkward. "I'm in your way here, dude. I'm gonna…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the door.

Sam swallowed and sat on the arm of the futon, his shoulders rounded. "Well...there goes my grade." He paused, thinking. "I'll just say I was sick. Not really allowed to miss any classes because they would yank my financial aid." He looked up. "No. No. Dean stay, it's fine."

"No." Dean's jaw was set now. "You've got school stuff to do, and me, I gotta be getting back to it y'know." He turned away towards the bathroom. "Just gonna clean up a bit and I'll head on out."

Sam followed him and stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Don't go, man. I'm gonna put on some coffee, okay?"

"I took enough of your time already, Sammy." Dean closed the door firmly in his face, his voice muffled behind the barrier as he continued. "Yeah coffee, good."

Sam jerked his head back to avoid being hit in the nose. The sounds of Dean running water, flushing the toilet and scrubbing his teeth drifted through the door.

"Coffee." Sam ran a hand through his sleep messed bangs. "Right." He headed to the tiny semblance of a kitchen and put the coffee pot on to boil.

Dean considered a shower, then dismissed the thought and flopped down on the toilet lid instead. He put his head in his hands and leaned his elbows on his knees, deep in thought.

"You still take it black?" Sam's voice called loudly.

Dean started, raising his head. "Huh? Oh yeah. Good and strong."

Sam contemplated the clear glass coffee pot a moment and then leaned both hands against counter and took a deep breath. He found Dean's leather jacket, fished out the Impala's keys and hid them in the drawer under the dog-eared phone book.

Dean emerged slowly. He stared around at the apartment, almost as though he hadn't seen it the day before. "Nice place you got here, Sammy."

Sam snorted, looked at the chipped ceiling and paint scuffed from years of too many college students. "Yeah. Palace. It's all I could afford," he halted. "but at least it's mine, you know?"

"You like that, huh? Somewhere permanent?" Dean looked genuinely curious, studying Sam from under raised eyebrows.

"Yeah. Yeah I do. It's kind of nice actually." Sam conceded. "The rent here is really high though. I've been surviving on Ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese."

Dean grinned. "Same old, same old, dude."

"So by the time I get out of here I'll probably be malnourished and well on the way to having cancer but at least I'll have a law degree, right?" He gave a nervous laugh.

"Good to see you're still thinking positive." Dean lowered himself gingerly onto a kitchen chair, shuffling around to get comfortable.

The quirk to Sam's eyebrows revealed that he'd gone into _Worried Sam Mode_ but he didn't say anything as he poured Dean a cup.

His brother was already back on his feet, an almost palpable tension seeping out of him.

"I have some eggs. You want breakfast?" Sam offered. He saw that wasn't working. "There's a diner down the road. We can actually go grab something there. It's really cheap. It's like a dollar for eggs, bacon, and toast."

"No, I'm gonna get out of your hair. Coffee is good."

"I also have that leftover pizza." Sam said, grasping at straws, even though judging by last night's empty box, it was gone. "You didn't really eat last night."

"Not really hungry, Sam."

"Dean, please stay." Sam noticed a tremor running through Dean's frame, almost a shiver. "You cold?" He tossed him a charcoal hoodie.

"'M'okay." Dean caught the hoodie anyway, holding it in a loosely folded bundle against his chest for a while before slipping it on.

" I think you need something to eat."

Dean dropped his eyes. "Not feelin' like eating." A haunted expression ghosted across his face. "Coffee's great."

"Dean..." Sam's voice shifted into lecture mode. "You've been here for like 18 hours and haven't had anything. Not one thing."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" His brother sounded frustrated. "Okay, you want to eat, let's eat." He searched around for his keys.

Sam frowned and went back to the little fridge. "Look! A non-moldy apple! Here." He whipped it at Dean's head.

A look of horror appeared on Dean's features as he caught the apple reflexively. "What! That's not food."

"For some reason when I'm sick to my stomach apples don't bother me... Why not? It's perfectly good fruit."

Dean was suddenly awkward. "I'm not sick dude. And it's fruit! Fruit is for monkeys."

"It's actually local," Sam said with a touch of pride.. "There's an orchard here where you can pick your own stuff."

His brother snorted, putting the apple down with a decisive thud. "And your point is?" He rolled his eyes. "Will you listen to yourself? Farmer Sam!"

"You know a piece of fruit now and then would not kill you. I promise."

"Might though." Dean's mutter had a dark sound to it.

"Yeah," Sam retorted, "the half an ounce of fiber might explode your intestines... Since they've probably never actually seen any fiber."

Dean froze, a nauseous look appearing on his face. "Let's talk about something else, okay." He swallowed heavily.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Stop mother-henning. I'm fine." He was hunting around for the Impala keys with an anxious look on his face. "Have you seen my baby's keys?"

"Hey." Sam tried to distract him. "Lets walk to the diner, okay?"

Dean ignored him, still casting around for the keys and muttering unhappily.

"Chill out." Sam put his hands on his hips. "I know where they are." He went to the other room and pulled a t-shirt on, padded back, still clad in his drawstring cotton sleep pants.

"Where?"

"They're in a safe place right now. I didn't want to turn my back and have you take off on me."

"Hand 'em over." Dean's tone was as stony as his expression. "Now."

"No."

"What!" Dean stared at him, incredulous. "Dude! What is wrong with you!" He started hunting with more vigor, his face suddenly paler than before.

"Dean, come on. Let's spend some time together, okay?"

Dean ignored him, his movements becoming increasingly desperate as he dragged open drawers, shoved things aside.

"Dean..."

"What! Sure I'll spend some time with you, Sammy. Just as soon as you give me the goddamn KEYS!" Dean's voice deepened, his expression pissed.

"It's okay, dude." Sam kept his tone even. "They're fine."

The answer was as unexpected as it was sharp. "Don't try and shut me in here!"

"Why are you scared that I have them?" Sam raised an eyebrow again at the outburst. "I'll give them back. Let's go eat...You just need some food. You'll feel so much better when we get your blood sugar stabilized."

"I'll come and eat, whatever you want. Quit treatin' me like I'm friggin' four! Just GIVE ME THE KEYS before I rip you a new one!" Dean swept a pile of books onto the floor, wincing a little. "Fuck my blood sugar!"

Sam withstood the tirade quietly, ever the bulwark in the storm. "You'll feel better. I promise. Let's go for a walk and get some fresh air."

"I don't need a GODDAMN WALK! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"Just said you don't want to be trapped in here. So a walk will be good right?" His eyes tracked Dean's movements. He remained patient. "Dean. What's going on with you, man?"

An icy calm descended over his brother. "Nothin'. Not a problem Sam, I'll just jump-start her." He slammed his way out of the door.

"Dean..." Sam jogged after him and down the stairs on his bare feet. "Where are you going?"

"Outside. I thought you wanted to go out, SAMMY." The sarcastic bite drifted over Dean's shoulder. "You might want to get dressed there."

"Yeah. I do. But ..." He kept pace with him. "Let me get dressed, okay?"

Dean came up hard against the side of the Impala, physically slamming into the bodywork as he leaned his arms on the roof and dropped his head on them.

Sam approached from behind, his tone soft.. "She's right here, dude. She's not going anywhere."

"Get dressed, Sam."

"Come on in with me."

"No." Dean turned to him with a glare, parking his butt against the hood and crossing his arms.

"Please."

"I need a few minutes, dude."

Sam eyes pleaded silently. "Please."

"I'm not going anywhere." Dean's voice was exasperated. "My jacket is still in your room."

"I know you. I'm going to go in to change and come out and you'll be gone."

His brother stared at him, deflating as he absorbed the misery in the hazel eyes before him. "Dammit, Sam." Reluctantly he trailed slowly after him back to the apartment.

"Thank you."

"For what? Bringing all this shit here?"

"No, for coming in with me." Sam replied, hurriedly slipping to a pair of jeans, socks, and jamming his feet into his blue tennis sneakers.

"I should've kept driving."

"Don't say that." Sam replied, fumbling with his laces.

"You don't need this crap."

Sam's voice was still calm but he was starting to get a fine tremor in his hands. "I can take it. Broad shoulders and all. Let's go eat. Catch me up on what's been going on."

His brother's expression was not encouraging. "Yeah sure."

Sam grabbed his own set of keys and wallet and headed out the front door, holding it open for Dean. "So what have you been up to? How is Dad?"

Dean squinted at him as though he'd grown a second head. "I've been hunting, what else would I be doing?" He shrugged. "Dad's fine, pissed at me."

Sam gave a derisive huff. "I just don't understand him. How can he be pissed at you?"

"Because I screwed up, that's why. Got a man killed."

"Even if you did fuck up, you paid for it in spades. You don't need him throwing extra baggage on you." Sam kept his pace slow enough so that his brother could stay astride with him. They walked shoulder to shoulder. "That's just the same bull crap he always does."

Dean's jaw clenched. "I deserved it. I shouldn't have gone in there half-cocked."

"He always has to rub your nose in it. He can just never let it be."

Dean swung in front of him and halted so abruptly that Sam nearly ran into him. "So what are we doing here, Sammy? We goin' for breakfast or we having some big chick flick therapy session?" There was a warning tone in his voice.

Sam stepped around him. "We're on our way. Just trying to make ..." he shoved his hand is in his pockets, seeming to grow physically smaller at the rebuke. "You know what, nevermind. Dad sucks, we've already established that. How's Bobby? Is he even talking to you guys after the whole big fight with Dad?"

"Bobby's fine. Him and Dad, no, not so much."

"Didn't think so. Dad has to make enemies with everyone." Sam lifted his head at the approach of a couple of students. "What's Bobby up to?" He asked suddenly aware.

The brunette noticed him. "Sam. Hey Sam! Where were you this morning?"

Sam slowed, turned to face her. "Eve!" He said with a false smile that did not touch his eyes. "Ummm." He gestured to Dean. "Dean, Eve. Eve, this is my big brother."

"Hey there." Amazingly, despite everything, Dean still managed to put out a cheeky grin and make eye contact.

"We had a late night and I wasn't feeling too well so I missed class this morning"

Eve's counterpart halted, seemed to be silently sizing Dean up. "Hope you're not leading our Sam astray here. He's quite the genius, you know."

Sam blushed.

Dean's grin faded as he directed an intense stare at the man before turning back to his brother. "Well come on, genius; I thought you were going to buy me breakfast."

"I am."

Dean was already stalking off. Sam caught a mutter of "Your Sam…" as he turned away.

Sam looked back with an apologetic smile. "Guys, he's had a really rough night so I'll catch you later, okay?"

"Maybe he should cut down on the alcohol a little."

Sam winced. "He's...it's not that. He's military. Just came home." His face grew a little harder. "Cut him some slack. I'll catch you two later."

Dean paused, waiting for him; he looked pissed. "More friends of yours there?"

"More like acquaintances."

"Best thing for acquaintances like that is a bullet between the eyes." The lazy drawl held a razor-sharp edge.

Sam turned into a small alley, held the door open to a little diner with about a dozen tables. "Oh come on. They're not that bad. You weren't exactly friendly either."

Dean ignored him, working his way carefully into a booth in the back corner of the diner. His face was a picture of expressionless and symmetrical perfection, only the white tips of his fingers betraying his discomfort.

 **Thank you for the reviews! iwokeup, mckyd, shadowhuntingdd, babyreaper, ngregory763, Tempermental18, lenail125, suicidalunicorn97, dreamlitnight, Kathy, our Guest...you all keep us writing. Especially our frequent reviewers. We love you so much.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sam watched Dean's struggle to sit down. "What? What is it, Dean?"

"Just sore." Dean snatched the tall menu out of its stand and opened it up, ducking behind it to avoid Sam's eyes.

"I need to ice that later. I have some Tylenol at home."

"Yeah." Dean's tone dismissed the suggestion. He dropped the menu on the table between them, a slightly queasy expression on his face.

Sam glanced at it and looked up. "Order something light. Toast and grits, maybe?"

His brother swallowed heavily. "Coffee."

The waitress was in her thirties, brown hair swept back in a bun. Probably an over worked mother. Sam ordered a three egg omelet, homefries, toast, bacon.

She turned to Dean. "And you, honey?"

Dean gave her a poor shadow of his normal flirtatious grin. "Umm coffee, black... thanks."

Sam caught her eye. "Bring him an order of buttered toast."

"I'm not hungry, Sam." Dean sounded miserable, weary, huffing a sigh when Sam continued.

"You need to eat." Sam took a sip of water. "Just take a few bites. Maybe we need to take you to the clinic later?"

"No. No clinic."

"We could actually probably just go into the nurse's office on campus and they'll think you're a student." Sam suggested. "That way it would be free and you don't have to worry about the whole insurance thing."

"I don't need a nurse Sam." Dean seemed to realize what he'd just said. He let his face lift in a smirk. "Well... I could use a nurse right now."

Sam shook his head, all dimples and charm. A different type of charm than his brother but still there. "Yeah. I know you could."

The smirk widened into the beginnings of a goofy grin as Dean settled with obvious relief into a familiar role. "A hot nurse."

"Remember that redheaded one in Tulsa?"

Expressive eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Oh yeah, I do! Good times, Sammy!"

Sam shook his head again, shaggy bangs flopping into his face. "God. I needed brain bleach. I mean don't get me wrong- _she_ was a great visual- but I really didn't need you in there."

His big brother huffed, temporarily distracted and delighted by the memory.

"How did you even manage that in the hospital bed?" Sam paused, studying Dean's face. "Like seriously?"

"You're talking to a natural expert here." Dean winked at him. "Ya snooze, ya lose."

Heartened by the response and enjoying himself, Sam continued. "Remember that time you caught me with..." he paused, searching his memory for the name. "...Eliza in the Chevy? Never got past second base. I swear it's all your fault."

Dean chuckled, the smile reaching his eyes and crinkling the skin at their corners.

The waitress set the plates down and Sam attacked his food, brightened by Dean's momentary happiness.

Dean watched him for a while, smiling a little, before turning to his toast. The stainless steel knife caught the light as he swiped carefully at the yellow pat of butter, making sure he didn't go so deep that the trembling edge would rattle against the dish. He paused with the loaded knife hovering over the toast, jittering up and down in time with the shaking of his fingers. After a couple of aborted attempts Dean gave up the notion of spreading anything and put the cutlery down; it clattered on the edge of the plate and he flicked a quick glance up at Sam through his lashes, hoping he hadn't noticed.

Sam gave no acknowledgement, intent on his eggs and clearly enjoying reminiscing. "Remember how we used to play 'Nam in that creek outside the rental in Pennsylvania?"

Dean grinned, his face a little tight now, trying to recover the feeling of happiness. "Yeah."

"We'd hunt each other with those air powered BB guns." Sam shoved a forkful of eggs around the plate.

"They were awesome." Dean looked at him with genuine warmth in his gaze. "It wasn't all bad was it, Sammy, huh?"

Sam looked up. "We found a bunch of Dad's old military gear and we'd dress up in the flak jacket..." he took a swallow of juice, spoke around a mouthful of food. "...and you missed and hit me in the leg that one time. I had that massive bruise. Bobby was so pissed at us."

"I never miss. You jumped out. And Bobby was always pissed at us." Dean grinned, finding a welcome release of tension in the memory.

Sam reached over and wordlessly buttered the toast, he grabbed a packet from the table and spread some grape jelly on it. "Yeah." He said, eyes on his task. "You _so_ missed."

"Dude, I _never_ miss!" Completely ignoring the fact that Sam had just spread his toast for him, Dean prised a piece off the plate and stared, wide-eyed, at the shake transmitted from his hand to the bread. He dropped it back onto the plate as though it was burning him.

Sam's eyes were on him appraising, even though he wasn't commenting. "Do not blame me for your shitty 11-year old targeting skills." He said lightly.

There was a tone of desperation in Dean's reply. "My targeting skills were never shitty. If we'd lived in the old west, I'd have been Billy the Kid."

"Cattle hustler. Yep sounds about right." Sam said companionably. His eyebrows quirked up but he kept eating, hoping Dean's tremors would calm down.

Dean grinned, jaw tight, taking hold of his coffee with both hands and steering it to his mouth.

"Cattle hustler, pool hustler, not that different. Hey." Sam bit into his own toast. "I should rent a movie for tonight, huh? Something classic. _Lethal Weapon?_ What do you think?"

"What about those exams, man?" Caution and pleasure battled on Dean's face as he squinted around the mug.

Sam shrugged. "I can probably look over the material while I'm watching the TV. I can deal with distraction. Not like you and Dad were very conducive to studying."

Dean dropped his gaze. "You don't have to do that. I need to get going anyhow."

Sam gathered his fork back up. "Oh come on. You just got here. I want to spend time with you."

His brother prodded his toast. "Don't wanna get in your way, Sam."

"You're not my way. I would tell you if you are in my way, you know that."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, you would."

Sam gestured with his fork. "You gonna eat that or poke it to death?"

"I'm eatin'." Dean looked away before his eyes could give away how stressed he was feeling underneath the momentary and fading layer of happy memories.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked. "Are you having trouble picking up _toast?"_

His brother sent him a look of gratitude. "I can pick up anything!" He winked and pushed the plate away decisively. "You know that."

Sam's snorting huff was not amused. "Yeah. You can." He crossed his arms. "Dean... eat. I'm serious. Like, really serious."

"Maybe later, okay?" Dean pulled at the collar of the hoodie. "It's kinda hot in here."

"Not later." Sam negotiated. "Just a few bites. Come on. I'm going to bet you haven't had anything in days."

"What are you now? Dad?" Dean scowled at him. "Sure I have..."

Sam's expression changed. His eyes filled with tears. He looked sideways to compose himself, swallowed hard.

The scowl was gone immediately. "Hey... What's up dude?" Dean screwed up his face, incredulous. "Is this 'cause I won't eat toast?"

Sam seemed about to reply but didn't. He kept his eyes averted, until he was able to choke the emotion back down. He poked listless at his plate with his fork. Defeated.

"Dammit, Sam." Dean choked down a small bite, scattering crumbs across the shiny surface of the table.

Sam's sad eyes didn't change much.

His brother chewed methodically, looking distinctly nauseous. "I'm eating, okay?"

"Maybe we really should take you to the clinic?"

"This is why I need to go. I'm just freakin' you out. I'm okay, Sam, really." Dean forced down another bite and dropped the toast with an air of relief.

"I... " Sam didn't finish. He trailed off and waved the waitress over for the check. He grabbed it, pulled money out from his wallet, and picked up the tab.

His brother made his escape, not offering to pay. Sam followed him out the door, his demeanor sad.

"Soo..." Dean cast around, looking desperate.

"What?" Sam's voice was flat.

Dean's face fell. He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair with a nervous jerking motion. "I've upset you."

Sam stopped and whirled to look at him. His mouth fell open slightly. "Of course you've upset me!" He spread his arms wide, widened his stance like he was getting ready for a confrontation. "I'm not supposed to be upset that my brother can't eat a piece of toast and is shaking and won't tell me what's wrong? If our situations were reversed, that wouldn't upset you?"

A look of guilt suffused Dean's face as he tucked his chin down. "I'm shaky that's all. It's probably that blood sugar thing you were talking about."

"Then why won't you eat something to stabilize it?"

For a moment Dean's guard dropped, his face going slack with misery. "I'm just feeling like hurling right now. Can't seem to keep anything down since, since…" He trailed off, swallowing.

"I wanna look you over when we get back to the apartment..." Sam started forward, "since what, Dean?"

"Since, Ike…" Dean's breath stuttered, caught.

Sam grabbed his brother's arm, steadying him. "It's okay. Don't talk about it out here. Come on." He led him back towards the apartment.

Uncharacteristically, Dean didn't shrug him off, stumbling wearily along at his side. "I don't wanna talk about it at all."

"Are you injured or is this nerves? Be straight with me, man."

Dean pulled up short. "Jeez Sam! I AM OKAY!" Everything about him, expression, posture, tone, said clearly that he wasn't okay, far from it.

"No!" Sam replied heatedly."You are NOT!"

"Just a bit shook up, that's all, it'll pass." His brother insisted.

"Bullcrap, Dean!"

Dean frowned at him, his full bottom lip pushing out in a bit of a pout.

Sam stood nearly shaking in the middle of the sidewalk. "I'm not having you yelling fight with you out here in the middle of the street!"

"Then stop yelling." Dean's tone was flat.

A female voice rang through the exchange. "Hey Sam! Glad we caught up with you!"

Sam turned around, unable to conceal his upset. The blonde from his study group earlier and a few of her friends were heading toward them. "You're still coming to our party tonight, right?" She gave Dean an appreciative look. "Hey, bring your brother along too!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Tracey. I think we're going to spend a night in."

Dean spoke over him, a wide grin plastered onto his face. To Sam's eyes it was completely false. "No! No, hey we'd love to come, wouldn't we Sammy? College party." Dean gave him the thumbs up, directing a flirty smile at Tracey.

"We had a death in the family and I'm not sure either of us is up to it..." Sam replied, glaring at Dean.

"We'll be there okay?" Dean turned to his brother, a silent plea in his eyes. "Maybe it'll be good, y'know?"

"Hey Trace..." Sam gave an apologetic wave. "Just don't wait up for us, okay?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, let her gaze linger on Dean. "I'm sorry about your loss but I hope you can come." She walked off, her friends at her heels.

Sam started back to the apartment. "I thought you wanted to shoot them between the eyes and now all the sudden you want to party with them? I'm not big on the college parties anyway. I usually just sit in the corner with a beer."

Dean followed him, his words quiet. "Better than us just fighting, dude." It was an unspoken fact that, if they went to the party, Sam wouldn't be able to extract any more information out of his brother.

Sam sighed as he climbed the steps and opened the apartment door. "Why do we have to fight?"

His big brother shrugged. A hopeless look on his face.

"Why can't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

The shadows were back in and around Dean's eyes. "Let's not do this, okay?" He flapped his hand. "Okay, movie, what was that about a movie?"

"Let me check you over." Sam turned on in a lamp in the corner.

"You already checked me over! I got a bit banged up, that's all."

"I didn't check you properly." Sam motioned impatiently. "Come on, take off the hoodie."

Dean physically backed away from him. "Yeah you did. You checked." The stress on his face was morphing into something else.

"Dean..." Sam's tone was firm. His expression held no quarter. "Either I'm doing it or a doctor is."

A chair caught Dean at the back of his knees and he sat with none of his normal grace, hissing and wincing as he landed on the hard seat. The green eyes fixed on Sam were full of unspeakable horrors. "Why can't you just let this go… please?"

Sam tugged at the hoodie. "Everything about you is SO not okay. Where are you hurting?"

Dean swatted at him half-heartedly. "It's all foggy. I can't really remember what..." A shudder wracked his frame. "I don't want to remember."

Sam ignored the swat and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. "It's okay, Dean."

Dean looked right through him, his fingers dancing with nerves on his knees. "Ike died. That, that thing ripped him nearly in two." He retched a little, caught it, the edge of his hand pressed against his upper lip. "I couldn't help." The broken whisper seemed to echo in the silent room.

Sam's empathy shone on his features. He looked almost as miserable as Dean, a hand to Dean's bare shoulder. "Don't throw up on me, okay. " He gave a weak smile.

Dean shuddered under his hand. "I couldn't get to him."

"Okay." Sam's thumb made made a soothing circle on the skin as he quashed his own upset to stay calm for Dean.

"I shoulda waited for back up... Dad'll never forgive me." A quick breath.

"Fuck Dad right now, okay. " Sam closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"It was all my fault. I got what I deserved."

The explosion was immediate and indignant. "IT IS NOT! Stop saying that!"

"Well who the fuck else's fault is it, Sam? Course it's my fault, being an ass, getting caught!"

"Look, everyone who's hunting knows what the price they might pay is! Ike was a professional. He knew what he was getting into."

Dean's head came up fast, the words ripped from his chest. "Yeah and Ike PAID it! He paid it for ME! It woulda been better if I was the one dead!"

"Shut up!" Sam tossed the hoodie to the floor.

Dean surged to his feet, pushing Sam away. "It was my fault, okay. Now just leave it alone!"

"No!" The expression turned into Sam's stubborn intractable one. "It's not your fault and I won't leave it! Everything bad that happens in the world is not Dean Winchester's fault."

Dean smirked, his lips twisted in a humorless grimace as he dropped his chin. "Huh. Right. Well this is."

"It's the fucking _Monster's_ fault, Dean!"

"Whatever you say Sammy." Dean reached out for the hoodie.

"No." Sam pushed his hand away. "Keep it off. I'm checking you over." His eyes swept his brother. "Did Dad even triage you when you got out?"

"Like HELL you are! No. No he didn't, maybe he was a little busy trying to keep his friend's guts from fallin' out!"

"Afterward he should have!"

Dean shrugged it off. "I was out of it anyway, no use to anyone."

Sam was done. Meeting anger with anger. "Fucking sit down or lie down or I will _make_ you do it." His voice held a dangerous, authoritative tone that was completely out of character for him.

Dean scowled at him.

"I can take you." Sam warned, noting the defiance in the gaze. "I'm your match anyway, but now you don't stand a chance." He pulled himself to his full height. Impressive. "So let's cut through the wrestling and take care of you. You can't even wrestle _toast_ right now."

Dean swore, viciously, under his breath, but didn't argue the point; he flopped down on the edge of the bed.

 **Iwokeup, Tempermental18, ngregory763, Carver Twain, babyreaper, bagelcat1, shadowhuntingdd, kathy, WinchesterKarma67, our Guest, and mckyd. Thank you so much for the reviews. Check out our individual stories currently In Progress, The Aspen Spirit by mariamo and Missing the Mark from celinenaville. Both a bit Dean-centered and heavy on the hurt/comfort. Surprise! If you do, let us know what you think. Thanks again!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

_Trigger Warning: There is dark subject matter in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but implied._

Sam had gone into triage mode just as he'd been trained to do by their father. He felt around Dean's scalp for injury. "Dizzy? Head hurt?" He peered into the green eyes, checking pupil response.

Resigning himself to Sam's ministrations, Dean answered in a tired voice. "Head is fine, bit dizzy, just tired."

"Did you take a blow to it?"

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "I can't remember…"

Sam felt under his jaw, testing the lymph nodes, moved down to his ribs. His brother's breath hissed through his nose as he quashed any sign of pain.

Sam shook his head. "You bruise a rib? Break it?"

"They're not broken." Dean's tone was defensive. "I know when I've got a broken rib."

Sam moved around behind him again to puzzle at the striped welting bruises over Dean's lower back. "What the hell _is_ that from?" He asked aloud.

His brother looked away, dropping his eyes to the carpet.

"Do you remember?" Sam prodded, taking note of new bruises that had formed in the interim between last night and the present moment.

"No." Dean's fingers tightened on the edge of the mattress. "I can't remember much."

Sam's eyes grew soft with concern as he ghosted his fingers over one of the discolored marks. "Dean." He breathed with a tone of pity.

"It probably feels worse than it is."

"Sure doesn't look nice." Sam left him a moment and grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer. He wrapped it around several wet dish towels and then placed it against the worst welts. "Here." He held it against his brother's pale skin. "Did you just get in the car and drive here right after?" He stopped, disappointed. "You did, didn't you?"

Dean shrugged. "Dad was kinda pissed. He had Ike's body to deal with. I just had to get away... " His voice trailed off.

Behind him, Sam's face twisted as he suppressed tears. He spoke when he could keep his voice steady. "Yeah. I understand."

"He had every right to be pissed."

"He still shouldn't have taken it out on you." Sam replied defensively.

"I deserved it. I couldn't stay there, Sam."

Sam stopped, looked at the bruising again. Dean's back had the brunt of it but he could see some around the ribs and some running under the low dip of his jeans.

"You're beat to hell. What else am I gonna find if I look?" Sam asked, almost afraid.

His brother kept his head down. "There's nothing to see." A tremble ran along the line of his jawbone. "It was just a ghost. Let's wrap this up Sam, okay, go to that party?" Dean flicked a glance up at him and then returned to his study of the carpet. "It was all in my mind... it's nothing."

"I don't know. These bruises aren't in your mind."

"They must be from the fall, the wires." Dean chewed his lip, anxiety radiating out of him. He pulled free abruptly and stood up, tugging his t-shirt back over his head.

Sam put the cold icy cloths down. "I don't think I can handle a party right now." He paused, curious. "Did it look human? Had a form?"

An expression of surprise crossed Dean's face as he realized he hadn't told Sam much about the reason for the hunt. "Yeah. It was a man, a local guy; he died a long while back."

"Odd for a poltergeist. Sounds more like a vengeful spirit."

His brother sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I guess it kinda morphed. Never seen that before."

Sam nodded and swallowed thickly, feeling a bit ill.

"Dad had been after him before, years back, but everythin' had gone quiet. Few weeks back, it started up again. He was a nasty freakin' bastard; I shoulda waited for Dad and Ike to get there, but I thought I could hear someone inside."

"Did it hurt a lot of people?" The tone was hushed.

"Yeah." Dean grimaced.

Sam blew a breath through his nose. "I just wish I didn't know about any of this stuff."

His brother scooped his jacket up from the chair. "I know, Sammy."

"No! No! I don't mean I wish I didn't know about that." He replied, upset that Dean being Dean would misinterpret it. "I mean this _life._ Just... I wish we weren't hunters. I wish I didn't know hunting existed."

"Well it does, man."

"Dean, don't leave. I...you came here for a reason."

"Yeah the wrong reason. Thought I came to see you, but I was just thinkin' of myself."

"You needed me." It was a plea for absolution. "I'm here. I'm not gonna let you down."

"You shouldn't have to be here for me, dude. Your friends, they don't have brothers turning up bleedin' all over their porch."

"I...I let you down when I left."

"You did what you had to do. It hurt..." The change in Dean's expression was tiny but spoke volumes. "You got out, that's what matters. And you need to stay out."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, but for now...I'm here...I'm right here and whatever you have to tell me...I'm here. Cause... " he ran out of steam, realized his own ineloquence. "I'm here."

His brother was trying hard to be patient. "I know you are Sam. But this one is on me. I'll deal, I always do." He tried a tired little smile. "Now where are my goddamn keys?"

"We've been over this. You're not leaving. I don't want you driving yet." The tone brooked no room for argument and pushed Dean's buttons in all the wrong ways. His patience waning, Dean scowled. "I can drive just fine. Hell, whatever, I'll hotwire her."

"Don't you dare." Sam wadded the cloths up, tossed them at the open hamper and followed Dean into the other room. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You are not driving."

"I can handle you, Sam." Dean headed for the door.

Sam tightened his jaw. "Get back here. We just had this argument"

Dean looked at him through narrowed eyes and pulled the door open. Sam crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed Dean's jacket by the collar, yanked him back inside.

His brother grunted in surprise and swung out reflexively.

Sam dodged out of the way. "NO! I'm not backing down on this!"

"Lay off!" Dean snapped, yanking his jacket free.

Sam stepped to the side and slid into Dean's way, blocking the exit. "You have to go through me."

"Fine." Dean slammed into him, his muscular frame knocking Sam off-balance.

Sam went down on his back and his brother, still on his feet, stepped over him. Sam's hand snaked out and grabbed onto Dean's pant leg. He gave it a tug. Dean kicked out irritably, freeing his leg and making contact with Sam's arm but Sam didn't let go. He rolled up, grabbed Dean by the ankle and pulled. Already extended over his brother's torso, Dean lost his balance momentarily and smacked his cheek on the door frame. He staggered and half-fell out onto the porch.

Sam leapt forward and grabbed him to keep him from taking a topple down the stairs. "Get inside! We are not having a fistfight on the damn lawn! " He twisted Dean's arm behind his back into a wrist lock and pushed him back inside before he kicked the door shut.

It was far too easy, hardly any resistance at all. Dean almost fell into the wall inside the apartment, his forehead and most of his body weight coming to rest against its surface. He struggled briefly, no heart in it, then went still, his face shining pale against dark texture of the wall.

"Calm down!" Sam ordered, still not letting up on his grip.

"Get outta my friggin' head." The words were so quiet, Sam wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"What?"

"Leave me alone, you weird ass freak…" There was a tremor in his brother's voice.

"Dean. Hey..." Sam let go of Dean's arm but kept his substantial weight against him.

The shaking in Dean's voice spread to his limbs. "Let me go… m'Dad's comin'. He's gonna gank your ass."

"Dean." Sam rolled the quaking body around so that they were facing each other.

"Hey. It's me."

His brother's eyes were wide, like those of a trapped animal, livid green in the pale wax of his face.

Sam felt a surge of concern. "Dean?"

Dean moaned quietly. "Get him out of my head."

"Dean?" Sam drew back, the realization dawning that Dean's mind was replaying some memory. His brother's breaths dragged in and out, shallow, fast. "Hey...come back to me, man."

The whimper was almost inaudible, a mere wisp of sound. "Sam?"

"I'm right here." Sam's hands were on either side of Dean's biceps. He slid his hands up to cup the dear face tenderly.

With a shudder, Dean passed out, his legs giving out abruptly as he slid down the wall onto his butt.

"Hey. Dean? Shit!" Sam, caught off guard, buckled under the weight and ended up on his knees with him. He pressed his fingers to the side of his throat to check the pulse. It was there. Steady. Strong.

His brother groaned, deep, guttural.

"Dean. Hey. Wake up."

Eyelashes trembled on the pale cheeks and lifted slowly.

"Hey, buddy." Sam said softly.

"Sam?" Dean looked so confused, so lost.

"Yeah. It's me."

To Sam's horror, his brother's eyes welled up.

"Hey...don't cry. I'm not that ugly." Sam tried with a smile.

Dean didn't respond to the joke until he finally asked. "Where were you?" Still more of a moan than speech.

"I was right here."

"I kept shouting, for you and Dad... you didn't come." Dean grabbed at his own head with his hands, squeezing, fingers shaking. "He hurt me."

"How. How did he hurt you? Is he still here?" Sam's concern was growing.

His brother's whisper caught, broke. "Got in my head, made me think..."

Sam drew in a deep breath, held it, waited for the silence to break.

Instead, a single tear slipped down the side of Dean's face. "Make him go 'way Sam..."

"He's still in your head?"

"I can hear him... he won't shut up!" Dean slammed his head back against the wall.

Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He began to dial his father's number, thought the better of it and dialed Bobby. "What's he saying? Talk to me, Dean." He put his other hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What he's gonna do to me…" Dean's breath hitched.

"Okay..." Sam knelt on the carpet, his hand absently rubbing a circle over Dean's shaking shoulder. He pressed the phone up to his ear, praying that Bobby would answer. He made his voice clear as the phone rang. "He's not doing it to you right now, you're with me okay?"

"He's here, all the goddamn time... tell him to shut the fuck up!" Dean smacked his own forehead with the palm of his hand. "Shut the FUCK up!"

Sam squeezed the shoulder, trying to keep Dean with him. "Keep calm, okay."

His brother's head rolled to the side, a desperate expression on his face as he scrabbled around, trying to get to his feet. "Where's my gun, I'm gonna blow my goddamn brains out!"

"Bobby. Bobby. Pick up..." Sam turned to give him a look. "Dean. Hush. Lie there." He pushed his brother back down. Dean rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up, his hands over his ears, trying to shut the world out. Sam had never seen him look so scared.

Finally a voice answered. Its familiar tone made Sam fall apart.

"Sam?"

"Bobby!" It came out as a half sob.

"Hey, calm down there son. What's up?"

"Its Dean!" Sam galloped into an explanation, frantically running his words together. "He'snotrigtheshowedupherehe's..." he made another dry sob.

"Dean?" Bobby's gruff voice was steady in his ear. "What's that you're saying about Dean? Slow down there Sam; I can't get what you're tryin' to tell me."

Bobby's instructions forced him to take a deep breath. "Something's wrong! Dean. He showed up at the college last night. He's all banged up...Something went wrong. Some hunt in New Orleans where he ended up tied up in a basement somewhere? Dad's friend Ike got killed on the hunting trip..." abruptly Sam's voice broke again. "S...sorry, Bobby."

The regret was plain in Bobby's voice. "Dammit. Ike was a good guy." His voice sharpened with concern. "Is y'brother okay? Did it hurt him?"

"Something's really wrong. He came in all shaky, he won't eat. He's got bruises all over his back and his torso. Almost like he was hit with a belt. He's having fits." He drew in a shuddering breath. "He said it's in his head telling him things." Sam kept constant contact with Dean, hand still on his arm.

"What do ya mean? It feels like it's still there? Like _in_ his head?" Bobby swore viciously. "Where in hell is yer Daddy!"

"I don't know! Dean said he was mad at him. So he took off to find me."

"How long did it have him?"

"I don't know... he seems really confused. I think it had him for a day or two..."

The sound of pages turning echoed down the 'phone. "A DAY or two! Y'know who this poltergeist was, right?"

"No! I don't! But Dean's all shaky and..." Sam knew, just _knew_ he was about to be told something he couldn't handle. "Oh god, Bobby."

"If yer brother was huntin' in New Orleans, I figure they were goin' after Dr Monk, one real nasty bastard, got himself quite a name as a serial killer back in the 1850s. Lived in this big house outta town… I guess it'd be in town now." Bobby's voice hardened. "Used to catch himself young men and tie 'em up down in his basement."

Sam swallowed hard. "Do I know where this is going?" The phone began to quake next to his ear.

Bobby sounded pissed. "I told yer Daddy years ago not to go messing around there, not with you or Dean in tow."

"Lemme guess." Sam closed his eyes, tipped his head back. "Likes pretty boys?"

"Heard he'd been causing a ruckus again lately. Yeah, Sam. He likes 'em, but not in the right way. What in hell was John thinkin' sending Dean in there!"

"Dean said he got impatient and went in without backup."

"Did ya say Dean can still hear him? Is that in his mind do y'think, or can he really _hear_ him?"

"I don't know! He's not able to focus on me when he's talking." The small quaver in Sam's hand turned into a full on shake. "It's like he's looking right through me and I'm not there..." He paused, shivering, patiently waiting for Bobby to tell him what to do.

"This Monk fella, he left behind some papers, kept a kinda journal, real sick... seems he told himself it was all okay 'cause he was paying the fellas... made 'em swallow a copper coin. Dean say anythin' about that?"

"Uh. I don't remember." Sam tried to replay their conversation.

"If Dean swallowed a coin, mebbe the spirit is still attached to it?"

"If he did, then we would have to wait for it to pass out of his system, right?"

"You want to be getting that coin outta him as quick as you can, Sam. No sayin' what he's tellin' Dean or what he's making him think he's doin'."

Despite his nerves, Sam's logic was finally starting to kick in. "What am I supposed to do...like _ex-lax_ him? Or ipecac? I think it's probably out of his stomach by now."

"Yeah, either, hell both, just get it outta him."

"Did it actually happen?" Sam whispered, hardly able to voice the thought. "Is it in his mind?

"Let's just get that damn coin outta him and deal with the rest later. Y'say he's got marks?"

The question almost made Sam cry again. He steadied his voice. Called up a reserve of strength inside him. "Yeah. Whip marks. Or belt welts. Bruises."

Bobby sighed. "That was Monk's M.O. alright. Just get the coin out, Sam." The rasping sound of him rubbing his whiskers sounded through the speaker. "Don't know how much power Monk has as a poltergeist, but throwing a belt around… that's kinda their thing."

"He kept saying that it was taking human form. Isn't that odd?"

"Human form... yeah odd, not impossible. He was a mad bastard, crazy, and it wouldn't be the first supernatural thing to throw us a curve ball."

"Okay." Sam exhaled steadily. "So coin outta Dean and then...then deal with his mental state?"

"All that pain, horror in that house, who knows what Monk was feedin' on... yeah coin first, then we'll take it as it comes."

"Thanks Bobby." Sam blurted. "I...I lo...you're like a father to me."

"Love ya too Sammy, both you boys."

Sam smiled, his heart heavy.

"You keep phonin' you hear?"

"Yeah." Sam hung up then hit the speed dial. It rang once or twice before a voice picked up.

"Brady? It's Sam. Look I need you to pick me up some ex-lax and ipecac. Don't ask. I'll pay you back. Just bring it here."

 **Thank you for all the awesome reviews. Even our guest reviews are appreciated, I just can't reply to you guys. But we love you. ...Don't worry, we are going to spare us all the ex-lax in the next chapter! LOL**


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was sitting cross legged on the ground with his cell phone in his hand. Brady hadn't arrived yet and he was having a hard time not fidgeting, not trembling with nerves. He couldn't let himself think about what had happened to Dean right now. He had to focus on getting him better.

Dean stirred, raising his head and sitting up with a confused expression on his face.

"How are you feeling, huh?" Sam asked, noticing the movement.

His brother rubbed the reddened patch on his cheek. "Huh?" His brows drew down. "Did you hit me, dude?"

Sam turned away.

Dean's voice went up a notch. "Did you hit me, Sam?"

"We got in a little scrap. It's okay now."

"I don't remember it too well. " Dean confessed, looking anxious. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm completely fine." Sam uncrossed his long legs. "You weren't much competition." His eyes were shadowed. "You passed out."

It was clear from Dean's expression that he didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Dean have you been tasting anything metallic lately?" Sam asked with no segue.

His brother shook his head, visibly forcing himself back to the present. "Metallic?" He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth with a grimace. "Um yeah, got a copper taste all the time lately. It sucks, big time… musta been somethin' I ate."

Sam controlled his facial expression with effort. _Calm down. Don't act alarmed._ Even though his heart was triple timing in his chest. "Did..." His voice cracked. He cleared it. "Did the poltergeist put anything down your throat?"

Dean paled.

Sam belatedly realized the poor wording. He clutched his hands at his sides, praying Dean would not be triggered.

His brother shuddered, frowning as he dragged unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind. "Yeah. He shoved some freakin' coin in my mouth, nearly goddamn choked to death."

"We need to get that out of you."

Dean shuddered again, nodding, looking queasy.

The doorbell rang and Sam went to answer it. "Hang on. I'll be right back." He stepped outside the door, closed it gently behind him and talked in a low tone to Brady. He came back in with a plain brown paper bag.

"Whaddya got there Sam?" Dean looked at the bag with suspicion.

Sam swallowed and paused to choose his wording. What could he say that would possibly make what he needed to do seem even remotely okay? He walked over to the kitchenette and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. "Dean, we have to get it out."

"You said that already." Dean's eyes widened as realization dawned. "Is that what's been making me feel kinda sick?"

"The coin. Yeah." Sam broke the seal on the bottle and studied the label. "Maybe it hasn't moved completely out of your stomach yet. That's my thinking since you can still taste it. And if it's lodged in your stomach, then we can just stop at the ipecac."

"Sounds awesome."

Sam felt a wave of guilt wash over him. "It's not...pleasant."

Dean huffed a resigned sigh. "Well I feel like shit anyhow. Let's get it over with."

Sam poured a small amount, measuring carefully. Then he handed Dean the spoon. "It's probably going to taste disgusting."

His brother took it, eyeing the liquid with distrust.

"Says half a teaspoon." Sam explained. He looked at Dean's face. "Just take the medicine, Dean. It'll be over soon, okay?"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed it with a determined air, letting the spoon drop to the floor with a clatter.

Sam bent to pick it up. "I think that coin is messing with your head. Like the poltergeist is still attached."

"Is that even possible?" The beginnings of hope appeared on Dean's face.

"I'm thinking so." Sam set the spoon on the counter and turned to observe his sibling.

They waited fairly quietly as time crawled by with no reaction, unsure of what small talk to make. Twenty minutes had passed. Finally, Sam could see his brother starting to look a little green. "Let's get you in the bathroom?" He asked, reaching for him.

Dean swallowed heavily. "Yeah." He retched, grasping at his stomach as he got up from the floor.

Sam grabbed him and tucked him under his arm. "Hold it together, man. Almost there." They burst into the bathroom and Sam let go of him, reaching down to lift the toilet lid.

Dean subsided onto his knees by the toilet with a groan. "What the hell did ya give me here, Sammy?"

"Syrup of ipecac."

Dean leaned over the cold edge of the bowl, a light sweat forming on his face.

"It's to induce vomiting. I'm sorry." Sam watched him guiltily. "To get out the coin."

His brother muttered something under his breath, then heaved into the toilet. The mouthful of toast and a quantity of coffee splattered into the bowl. Sam flushed quickly. Dean snatched a mouthful of air and heaved again and again, with increasing violence.

Sam knelt next to him and put a hand between the shoulder blades, hitching beneath his touch. "It's okay." He soothed.

His brother spat, his fingers quivering in a white knuckled grip on the edge of the porcelain bowl. He heaved again, letting out an involuntary sound of discomfort as his body tried desperately to eject something from his empty stomach.

Sam leaned over to see if there was a coin in the bile. So far nothing.

"Anythin'?" Dean gasped, spitting. Before Sam could reply, he began to heave again, the force of it wracking his body.

Sam winced at the horrible sound. "Oh god. I'm so sorry."

His brother, beyond speech now, gasped for air.

"Shhh." Sam tried soothing again. "It's gonna be over soon. It's okay."

It clearly wasn't okay. Dean raised a chalk white face to him, his eyes reddened and watering. He seemed to want to say something but had to turn away again as another spasm gripped him.

"I'm so sorry." Sam winced again. "Oh, man."

Dean reached out, groping around, gripping onto Sam's wrist.

"It's okay. I'm here."

His brother began to cough, choking really.

"You're doing really good. Just hang in there." The hand patted the back of the shoulder blades again. Sam grew mildly concerned over the extent of the choking.

A final cough, a noisy gag… and a coin pinged off the top of the rim and dropped to the floor. It rolled in a small, noisy circle, coming to a halt beside the bath tub.

"It's out!" Sam exclaimed, torn between crying with relief and remaining calm.

Dean collapsed onto his backside, moaning pitifully, temporarily uncaring of his display of weakness in front of his little brother.

Sam reached out to catch him. "I gotcha."

Wrapping his arms around his middle, Dean rolled onto his side, letting his head drop to the floor.

"It's out. You're okay."

"Crap..." Dean wheezed. "That sucked."

"I'm so sorry." Sam said again. "I can't even apologize enough."

"Not your fault, Sammy." Dean gagged, swallowed. "Get me up."

Sam scrabbled to his feet, then bent down and half dragged his brother up.

Dean leaned on the edge of the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed water over his face and head, rinsed his mouth. His entire body was shaking with reaction as his teeth rattled audibly. "I gotta lie down."

"Yeah." Sam felt useless. He put his arms around the broad shoulders and helped Dean to the bed. His brother collapsed onto it on his back, letting out a groan.

With the immediate danger gone, Sam found himself blinking back tears. "Go ahead and rest."

His brother rolled onto his side, pulling a pillow into his chest and closed his eyes. Satisfied that he was safe, Sam limped to the bathroom on legs half numb from crouching. He closed the door and slammed his back up against it, giving in to tears the moment he was out of Dean's sight.

A hoarse croak followed him. "What you doin' with the coin?"

Sam steadied his voice. "Flushing it I guess?" He grabbed a piece of toilet paper and picked the coin up, set it on the side of the vanity. Flushed the toilet and wiped up a few traces of yellow bile that had splashed the floor.

Dean grunted, went quiet.

Sam washed his hands and dialed Bobby. "It's out. What do I do with it?"

"Can y'melt the thing down? How is he?"

"Well," Sam considered. "He's really weak. I just gave him syrup of ipecac. He heaved for like 20 minutes straight."

"Balls. Poor kid. Look after him, Sam."

"I feel like an asshole."

"Ain't y'fault boy. Y'had to get it outta him. You did the right thing."

"I don't know what to do about this, Bobby." Sam drew a deep breath, regretted the action. The bathroom still smelled like sickness. "I'm trying to stay calm...but..."

"Let me speak to him."

"Huh. Okay." He opened the door.

"Dean..."

His brother opened bleary eyes. "Huh?"

"Bobby wants to talk to you."

"'kay." Dean whispered, holding out his hand. He cleared his throat.

Sam walked over and handed him the cell.

Dean put it to his ear, listened, nodded, seeming to forget that Bobby couldn't see him. "Yeah. What? Nah… No, I dunno."

Sam hovered and tried it listen in.

His brother's face went tight.

"What?"

Dean rolled away so his back was to Sam. He said something into the phone in an undertone.

Sam's anxiety peeked again.

After a moment, Dean held the phone up in the air. Sam took it from his fingers. His brother dropped his face into the pillow, keeping his back to Sam.

"Bobby, what did you tell him?" Sam excused himself back to the bathroom and closed the door "You upset him."

Bobby's voice held a full measure of exasperation and frustration. "Hell Sam! Whaddya think?!"

Sam furrowed his brow, concerned. "What did you say to him?"

"He thinks it's all in his head. Mebbe it is." Bobby sighed. "Yer brother knows what Monk did; he knew before he went in there."

"And...Your point?"

"Now the coin is outta him, Monk can't get into his head."

"How do I deal with him? Dean is..." Sam tightened his grip on the cell. "...impossible."

"I know it." Sam could almost see Bobby rooting around under his baseball cap. "I guess… be real careful. Be nice, Sam."

Sam couldn't keep the defensiveness from his tone. "When am I not nice?" He asked, clearly offended.

"Hell, son. That ain't what I meant. Just be… nicer. He's gonna be kinda delicate right now."

"Yeah. I know."

"Do ya want me to come down there?"

"If..." Sam didn't know how to voice what he was thinking. He didn't know how to say, _Yes, I'm drowning here._ Or _I don't want to face this._ "If you want to. But I can..." he took a deep breath, feeling that Dean didn't have the option to not face it, so why should he have one. "He's my brother I can deal with him.

"I know y'can Sam. Y'keep me updated, y'hear?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. I'm...I gotta go." Sam ended the call, took a deep breath and steeled himself to deal with Dean.

 **Thank you for all the great detailed reviews. We are so grateful, each one is a treat. Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates. Although this is decidedly the weirdest Easter present to leave anyone. ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

There was a quiet sigh from the direction of the bed.

"Hey." Sam's voice was gentle. He sat on the edge. The mattress dipped under his weight. "I've got your coin. Don't ever do that to me again, okay?" He gave a weak laugh.

"'M sorry Sam." Dean's voice was apologetic, a little muffled by the pillow. He raised his head. "What're you doin' with it?"

"I don't know. I'm sure not eating it." The smile was gentle. "Melt it down, maybe."

Dean nodded.

Sam toyed with his quilt. "Did the...voices stop?"

"Yeah." Just a whisper, but at least it was in the affirmative.

Relief swept across Sam's features. "Atta boy." The affection in his eyes was undisguised. "You're amazing, you know that?" The tone was fond.

His brother looked a little embarrassed. "Thanks man... for getting it out, and everythin'."

"I'm just telling you the truth as I see it." Sam gave his brother's calf a gentle pat. "Thanks for coming to me. I know it was hard."

Dean huffed. "Wasn't so hard..." His face twisted in a wry smile. "Knew you'd save me."

"You make it difficult to sometimes." Sam glanced at his watch, looked concerned. "But I'll always try, you know that."

His brother patted his knee a couple of times. "You got somewhere to be? 'M okay here."

"I..." Sam hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with voicing any desire to leave.

Dean turned the full power of his gaze on his little brother, knowing, just instinctively knowing, that he needed more reassurance. "It's okay Sammy, really."

"I have a midterm." The voice was apologetic. "I can't miss it."

"I'm just going to lay here a bit... you go; I've crapped all over your week already."

Sam stood up, shoving some clothes around in his dresser, rattling the picture of their father and mother as he dug for a shirt. "I'll be back in like an hour- an hour and a half at the most. I promise, okay?"

Dean dropped his face in the pillow again, his voice indistinct. "Just go willya? I'm gonna rest."

"Okay." Sam pulled off his current t-shirt, threw a new one on. A plain blue one. Checked his back pocket for his wallet. "There's maybe some pizza and beer in the fridge. TV. Have a few stations. I even have an Xbox."

His brother groaned, flapping a hand at him without raising his head. "Not hungry… that ipipwhatsit… jus' tired."

"I...gotta...go." Sam tried not to look hurried but he sprinted for the door.

It slammed shut. After a couple of seconds, Dean rolled slowly onto his back, very much awake. He knuckled his eyes, let his fists fall to the covers and stared at the ceiling.

"Crap… Crap."

The silence of the vacated apartment fell around him like an eerie shroud. Dean rolled off the bed, his gaze passing over the photo of John and Mary on the dresser. It tugged at his heightened emotions in a way that made him feel uncomfortable and a little choked, so he turned quickly away and ran his eyes over the rest of the small bedroom. It was set out in an organized but slightly untidy way; text books, a few sparse decorations, more books. It screamed 'nerd' loud and clear. Dean huffed a little laugh, a look of pride fleeting across his face.

He found some clean jeans in his bag, borrowed another hoodie from Sam's drawer and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water was warm enough, but the pressure was uncertain and the momentary relief at feeling cleaner was soon eroded when he realized he felt as weak as a wet noodle.

He persevered, rubbing shampoo into his hair and letting the water sluice it down onto his shoulders, but despite being in sunny California it was cold in the little room. Dean shivered, feeling suddenly claustrophobic and uneasy when it occurred to him that the coin was probably still in there somewhere. Suddenly, being naked and unarmed didn't seem like such a good idea.

He rinsed quickly, toweled himself down with a garish beach towel and dragged on his jeans, struggling to get the material up over the damp skin of his thighs. He yanked his t-shirt on untidily, some of the cloth rucking up on his half-wet back, then burst out into the main room, still tugging the hoodie over his head as he slammed the bathroom door behind him with a shudder.

He stood there for a moment, feeling quite shaky and vaguely panicky without any particular reason. His reflection in the full length mirror stared back at him with haunted green eyes. Dean but not Dean. A stranger with bare feet and torn jeans, bundled in an over-sized hoodie, pale face marked with the bruises of exhaustion beneath wet, tousled hair.

The door to the outside hallway rattled and then swung open.

Startled, Dean reached for the gun in his waistband. It wasn't there. He backed quickly into the kitchenette. "Sam? That you, Sam?" He was sure his brother wasn't due back yet.

 _"Who the hell are you?"_ The young man on the other side of the door was clearly startled. "Get out of my apartment!" He stepped in, cautious, blue eyes darting.

Dean's hand settled on the counter top, next to the knife block. He scowled, irritated by the unexpected intrusion and the offensive tone. "Who are you dude? This is Sam's apartment. Not yours."

"I live here _with_ Sam." He retorted. He raised an eyebrow, seemed to take Dean in. _"You're_ a friend of Sam's?"

A vague memory stirred. A room-mate. Right. "M'brother." Dean clarified, his tone sharp.

"His _brother?"_ The Abercrombie and Fitch model seemed taken aback. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

Dean glared at him.

"No offense dude, but I'm pretty sure that Sam would have told me that you'd be crashing here." The man closed the door behind him, deciding that Dean was not a threat. "Its midterm week."

"Yeah well, I guess he didn't."

He wrinkled his nose and set down his bag. "Why does the place smell like puke?"

"Are you always this pushy, dude?"

"This pushy?" He pursed his lips. "Excuse me, I show up from a visit with my family, walk in and find some strange guy in the middle of my living room...the place is trashed, it smells like puke, you look like you've been in a bar fight, Sam is nowhere around, I wasn't informed of any of this. How exactly am _I_ pushy?"

Dean looked at him with disgust. "You're a jackass," he noted, his tone flat.

The mouth dropped open at the belligerence. "You have two seconds before I call the cops."

"You do that, pal." Dean found he was too tired to argue, too tired to care. "Sam's gonna love that."

The man put his hands on his hips, considering. He was wearing a polo shirt that probably cost more than Baby and a pair of khakis. He walked off to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Briefly, Dean considered punching the guy in the face, but decided with some regret that it would upset his brother.

The toilet flushed and the young man came back out carrying a wadded pile of Dean's clothes. He threw them at him. "The bathroom floor is no place for your clothes."

Pissed green eyes narrowed. "Whatever."

He shook his head. "Did you come in here drunk and puke in my bathroom all night?"

Dean's expressive lips lifted in a snarl. "Mebbe I did."

He put his hands on his hips again. "Well I can see why Sam never talked about you much."

It was a measure of Dean's current vulnerability that some of the hurt he felt showed briefly on his face.

"Dean, right?"

Dean dragged on his boots without giving a response, deciding he either needed to leave the apartment right now or there was a danger he might stick a kitchen knife into the obnoxious little shit who shared Sam's digs.

"Yeah okay." The guy said, grabbing drink from the fridge. "I remember the name now." He shook his head. "Sam has some explaining…"

The sentence was cut short by the slam of the front door. Dean stomped noisily down the steps in his unlaced boots and strode along the sidewalk until he reached the Impala. Breathing heavily through his nose, wishing he had the keys, he flopped down onto his ass, pushing his back against the familiar comfort of the Impala's tire. He pulled one knee up and leaned his forearm on it, staring vacantly at his other outstretched leg and the boot laces trailing across the dry, dusty surface of the Californian sidewalk. After a moment he pulled up the other knee, rested his elbow on it and dropped his face into his hands.

Sam was jogging back to the apartment. He didn't notice Dean as he rushed up the stairs.

His brother was so immersed in his thoughts that he had no idea Sam had returned until he heard the sound of shouting coming from the apartment. He raised his head, bleary eyes focusing when he recognized Sam's voice raised in anger, the sound bringing him up onto his feet immediately.

Sam's voice carried to the street in broken gibberish. "...Really sick!... Needed a place to stay!"

Dean slammed through the door behind him. "Sam! You okay?"

Sam whirled, his entire face telegraphing his relief. "Dean!"

Dean glowered, skirting rapidly around to stand in front of Sam. "Any more outta that ass and I'm gonna rip his head off!"

"No! Dean! Stop!" Sam grabbed his shirt and tugged firmly. "Logan, man, I'm really sorry. This isn't him." He pulled Dean backward like an errant child and met his roommates eye's. "He's really sick and he's just not feeling well."

Dean turned incredulous eyes on him. "Sorry! What are YOU sorry for!" He sent another glare in Logan's direction.

"For your behavior, Dean." Sam snapped, letting him go. "Calm down!"

Dean slammed his hand against the door frame in frustration. "My behavior?"

"You're not exactly being... " Sam chose his words carefully, "reasonable right now."

Dean hooked his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair. "Are you being serious dude!?"

"Yes, I'm being serious. I should have told Logan that I had company." Sam's voice had calmed down. "I should have texted him or something but you were so damn sick I forgot."

Dean already his bag in his hand. "Whatever man, it's not your fault. I'm gonna get out of your way now." He set off down the steps, stumbling slightly.

Logan watched the spectacle from his spot near the kitchen. "I'm not sure if I really feel safe with having him here anyway, Sam."

Sam jogged after him, shoes slapping on the wood steps.

"Dean wait!"

Dean had already jimmied the door open and was pulling wires from under the Impala's steering column.

"Hey Dean! Dean!" Sam slapped the hood. "Please. _Please._ " He was panting. "Wait! Stop."

His brother turned a pale face in his direction, his expression grim. "Calm down, Sammy. I'm okay. You saved me. I'm okay."

"No." His composure had completely slipped. The pressure of the last 24 hours finally causing him to be beside himself.

"I'll go to a motel… don't want to cause any more shit for you man." The Impala rumbled into life.

"I'll come with you. We can get a motel together and stay there for a couple days, okay? Just me and you."

"You don't have to do that. You've got exams." Dean was already in the driver's seat; he slammed the door. "You need to do your own thing, dude."

"I've got exams but they're only an hour or two per day." Sam grabbed the passenger side door frame, fingers bloodless. "I can just leave, go do an exam then come back, okay?"

Regret and guilt passed over Dean's face. "Hey, calm down. I'm good." He gestured at Logan's belligerent figure. "Go sort out that asshole."

"No. No." Sam glanced in the direction to see Logan standing on the steps watching them. Another few people had some out to watch the drama. "I can get another roommate. I can't get another brother."

"Should we call the cops, Sam? Is he breaking into a car?" Logan called.

Sam turned his head. "Logan, it's fine. It's his car."

"Sam." Dean sighed heavily. "Just go in, okay?"

"No." Sam kept a desperate grip on the passenger door.

One of the neighbors raised their voice. "Typical."

Logan commented on the car. "Piece of trash."

"Oh, that is _it!_ " Dean launched himself back out of the Impala and rounded the hood, his expression murderous. "You are so dead, dude!"

"No. Dean." Sam body blocked him. He shouted back over his shoulder. "You guys aren't helping! Everyone leave him alone. I've got this!"

"Can I shoot him Sam?" Dean swayed unsteadily, trying to sidestep.

"Stop." His brother warned. "They will call the cops."

Dean wasn't backing off.

Sam finally exploded. " _Knock it off, Dean!_ Stand the fuck down!"

Dean subsided, hanging on to the Impala with one hand and Sam's arm with the other.

"I'm calling the cops." Logan said resolutely.

"Logan! My brother just got out of serving in Afghanistan. A little respect would be nice!" Sam barked. "Everyone stop yelling and let me handle this."

Dean let go of his arm, using the Impala's bulk to keep himself upright.

Sam turned around. "Logan, I need to come inside and grab some stuff. I'm going to spend a couple days in a motel with Dean that way we won't be in your way."

Logan's eyes darted to Dean. "That's probably for the best, Sam."

The small crowd was dispersing.

"If you want to find a roommate after exams are over, that's fine I'll find a different place to stay." Sam shouldered his way inside, wandered to his room with a sure step and grabbed pre-packed duffle bag that he always had on hand. He had never given up the feeling that he needed to be ready to go at a moment's notice, even after the relative ease of Stanford. He opened the drawer in the kitchenette, grabbed the keys to the Impala, hidden under the phone book and left. Logan stood speechless behind him.

His brother was slumped in the driver's seat, a look of despair on his face.

Sam rounded to passenger side and ducked in, tossing the duffle in the back. He threw the keys at Dean.

His brother caught them smoothly. "I didn't... I should never have come here."

"It's fine, Dean." Sam's tone was flat.

"No. It's not. Go back in. Get on with your life, Hell, apologize or something."

"I'm staying here, so let's go." When Dean didn't, he shifted in the seat. "I don't know why you have to pick a fight with every single person you fucking meet."

"I don't wanna fight. Just came to see m'brother."

Sam put his face in his hands. His voice was muffled against his palms. "Just... why couldn't you nicely introduce yourself and tell him what you were doing in his house?"

"Didn't really go down that way. He was kinda pushy."

Sam looked up, annoyed. "Oh you mean he was startled and scared that some strange guy was in his house and asked you WHY. And you called him an asshole?" Sam huffed. "That's kinda pushy?"

There was no argument, no defiance left. "Jackass… whatever." The Impala pulled away from the curb. "I'll drop you back in the morning, next class, whenever you want."

A moment of silence stretched between them. "He's a decent guy if you're not a dick to him."

Dean snorted softly. "Not my kind of people Sam."

"Well no, of course not, because you're a dick to all of them."

"Yeah, that's me." Dean's tone was resigned.

"You act like a dick to them and then expect them to be nice to you?" Sam furrowed his brow. "On what planet does that work?"

"Wasn't a dick Sam. Calm down, dude."

"Threatening to blow his brains out wasn't a dick?"

"He insulted my baby!" Dean managed a weary scowl.

"It's a freaking car, Dean! She doesn't _know!_ "

Dean looked at him, a quick sideways glance, his voice soft. "She's the only thing I've got."

Sam's breath accelerated. "Thus far you've met about 6 of my friends and I believe you wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every single one of them. " Sam registered the words. "Do I not count as much as Dad's fucking car?!"

"My car dude." Dean reminded him in a mild tone.

"She's not the only thing you have. You have _me!"_

"No. No I don't, not anymore."

"Really?" Sam's voice rose an octave. "Then why am I here? Huh? You're my brother, man. Why did I just throw away my place to stay and fuck up my midterms and fall out with a bunch of my friends if you don't have _me?_ " He slapped the dashboard in a display of anger. "You're such an asshole sometimes!"

"Yeah, I know." Dean's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Sam's nostrils flared. "Goddammit, Dean!" He was about as irate as Dean had ever seen him.

Dean pulled up on an empty stretch of the wide boulevard. He didn't seem to know quite what to do.

Sam slammed out of Baby so hard she lurched with the motion. His brother followed him slowly, an apologetic look on his face.

Sam walked off onto the side of the road, still breathing rapidly. His shoulders were tight. He looked ready to blow at something. Dean waited patiently, dragging a hand over his tired face.

Sam kicked a fallen branch near the side of the road. His boot snapped it.

After a moment, Dean approached cautiously. "Hey…" He put a conciliatory hand on Sam's heaving shoulders.

"Don't!" Sam whirled dangerously.

His brother backed off immediately, his hands held out, palms up. "Okaayyy... What is up with you?"

"I'm _mad,_ Dean!"

"Yeah I see that." Dean set his shoulders, firming his stance, almost as though he was expecting Sam to take a swing at him. "You're pissed at me."

"I'm mad at everything!" Sam panted.

Dean dropped his eyes. "Not before I got here."

"Don't!" Sam pointed at him. "Don't pull that shit again. I can _not_ take it right now." He was shaking from adrenaline. Primed to fly at something.

"I screwed everythin' up again." The words were bitter. "What shit, Sam?"

"The 'I shouldn't have come here, I'm upsetting you' shit! Stop it!"

"Just tellin' it like it is." A flare of frustration pushed its way through Dean's misery. "What do you want me to say, huh? I'm not sorry about that jackass… he just kept pushing and pushing."

Sam snorted, turned his shoulder to his brother, finally reining his anger down a notch. When he spoke it was still heated but more reasonable. "I have spent... _years_ constructing this life for myself, these contacts, these friends. I've tried really hard , Dean!"

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders a little. "Yeah I know."

"Can you even _try_ to see something from someone else's perspective for once?! I knew this would happen." Sam's voice was tight. "You know why I wasn't happy when you came and I saw you? Because I knew this was going to happen!" He almost choked. "I missed you but I knew this was going to happen."

"That's why I'm gonna go."

Sam's tone grew desperate."You're not leaving! You're not! I _won't_ let you!"

"Jeez, Sam." Dean reached out again, conciliatory, his hand hovering just short of Sam's shoulder. "Hey, come on kiddo."

"You're not leaving!" Sam swallowed hard, tears standing in his eyes. "You can't come in, napalm my life and then just walk off while you're still bleeding!"

The hand made contact, just brushing the surface of the fabric over Sam's back. "I'm okay."

"No you're _not!_ You're like the worst I've seen you! And I've seen some shit."

Dean looked distinctly uncomfortable, shaking his head slightly in denial. "I'm always okay. It's you I'm worried about."

"And now I'm fucking falling apart when..." Sam pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He broke off.

"It'll be alright man." Dean patted his brother's shoulder, a little awkward.

Sam looked away, shaking. He seemed suddenly much younger than his twenty years.

"Let's go back, huh? I'll even apologize to jackass if you want me to?"

"I'm sorry." Sam said, hushed. His anger gone. "I shouldn't dump this shit on you now. You don't need it."

"You're not dumping on me; I'm the one who dumped on you. Come on, lemme go and sort this out." Dean gave him a small smile, his tone encouraging in the way only an older sibling or a parent can be. "You've got a nice place there, dude."

Sam's limbs were still shaking, when he looked at Dean it was with a sudden vulnerability.

"Oh hey man..." His brother pulled him into a rough hug. "'M really sorry."

Sam gripped the fabric of Dean's shirt with a desperation. Dean patted him on the back, briefly squeezing hard before letting go.

"It's not that...Never mind. Let's just go to the motel, huh?"

Dean nodded. "I'm bringing you back later though." He stepped away. "You've got a life here; don't need to be hanging around motels now."

"Pick a close one. I still have midterms tomorrow."

Dean came to a decision, firmed his jaw, meeting Sam's gaze directly. "Look, Sam. You need to get back home…all your books and stuff... I'll sleep in the Impala, right outside, okay?"

"No." Sam's tone was intractable. "You're not sleeping in the car like a dog."

A small, offended frown creased his brother's brow as he detected a slight to his baby.

"We'll hit the motel."

"No. You gotta study. We'll go back, and I'll be nice and friendly to asshat."

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

"I'll sleep on your floor…" An element of desperation entered Dean's voice. It was so much harder now to comfort his little brother than when a candy bar or a book would do the trick. He plowed on. "After your school shit tomorrow, we'll grab a burger or something okay? Just tell asshat I'm crazy or somethin'…not far wrong."

"It's not gonna work." Sam groaned. "Lemme think."

"I can play nice." Dean reassured him.

"No, you can't. " Sam predicted. "He's going to say something to set you off and you're going to try to kill him."

"No. I'm not. Haven't got the energy. Tell him I'm on medication or somethin'." Dean's hand was back on his brother's shoulder, some weight behind it as he added ruefully, "I really gotta lie down, man."

Sam hooked an arm around him and held some of his weight.

The car seemed suddenly impossibly far away as the shimmer that had been playing at the edges of Dean's vision began to spread. He blinked, sighed.

"I'm trying to be strong for you. " Sam dropped his head. "I'm sorry I'm not."

"You're strong... stronger than me, stronger than Dad." They reached the Impala. Dean collapsed against it shakily.

"I'm falling apart here. I was trying to say so calm." Sam leaned his hand against the impala.

The drag of exhaustion pulled at his brother's quiet statement. "Wouldn't have made it without you, Sammy."

Sam ducked into passenger side, his exhaustion suddenly apparent. "Want me to drive?"

"Nah." The Impala snarled into life.

"Dean this isn't going to end well. We need to go to the motel."

"Oh hell, no! You need your books."

Sam snorted. "Like I can study with this."

"You studied through worse than this." Dean snorted. "You used to study in here, when all hell was breaking loose! I'd be digging graves and you'd be there with your flashlight."

"Yeah, but this is different."

"We can deal with the supernatural, we can deal with one jackass."

"I'm not talking about Logan."

Dean didn't reply, but the minute change in the pressure of his fingers on the wheel and the angle of his head still clearly broadcast his distress to his brother.

"You let me go in and talk to him. _Stay."_ Sam lectured, leveling a finger at him. "And no matter what stupid ridiculous fucking line I come up with you are to agree with every bit of it...you got that?"

"Yeah."

Sam left.

Dean closed his eyes and let his head drop against the window. He was exhausted enough that Sam's return made him start quite violently.

Sam ducked his head into talk to Dean and leaned to get his own duffle.

"Grab your stuff."

Dean followed slowly, looking around in puzzlement at the empty apartment.

"Logan is going to stay with his girlfriend for a few days"

Relief suffused Dean's features. "He's gone?"

"Yeah. I told him you just got back from a Tour of Duty and are having post-traumatic stress symptoms He apologized and said to thank you for your service."

Dean made a small motion of embarrassment.

"What? it's the only thing I could come up with besides recovering drug addict."

"You shoulda said I was an addict." The faucet gushed briefly as Dean filled and downed a glass of water.

"Don't think you would have gotten much sympathy for The Drug Addict Route, Dean. This is actually closer to the truth anyway."

"Doesn't feel right." Dean muttered.

"You're out there on the front lines risking your life every day... what's the difference?" Sam asked, kicking his duffle aside.

Dean gave him a hard glance. "They're not shooting back Sam."

"Tell that to Ike."

The glass cracked onto the surface of the sink.

"Sorry, man." Sam winced. "I never think before I say stuff. My point is you're brave and you're fighting a war."

His brother waved it off. "Leave it." He looked around. "What time is it anyway?"

"Like six? I'm starved." Sam wandered over to the fridge and began rummaging again. He found a foil covered plate near the back and uncovered it. Several slices of pizza were lying on it. "Hah. Logan is always hiding his food from me. Can you eat anything yet? "

Dean shrugged. Not really interested, but wanting his brother to eat. "Yeah. Mebbe."

Sam warmed the plate in the microwave. He set Dean's piece down near him on a napkin and wolfed down his own.

Dean watched him, a tired smile on his face as he picked at his own unappetizing, dried up slice. After a couple of mouthfuls he pushed it across the table to his ravenous brother. "Here ya go, Sasquatch."

"I'm sorry this shit happened to you." Sam devoured the proffered piece. "Does dad know?"

"About my back? Dunno, I didn't hang around long." Dean's mouth pulled into a hard line. "He was pretty pissed."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "About what really happened?"

"About Ike?"

"No not Ike. Come on quit dodging the question."

"Nothin' else for him to know." Dean got up abruptly. "I'm beat. And you need to get to your books."

"Does he know it had you for two days down in the basement?"

Dean swallowed audibly. Shrugged.

The eyebrow went up again. "No?"

Another shrug, eyes averted.

"You know, I don't even think he'd be mad at you if he knew."

Dean's head came up fast. "Knew what? That I screwed up, been tied up for a few hours with some ghost whispering to me?" Dean cleared his throat. "Part of the job, Sam. Ike got me out. I shouldn't have been there."

Sam shook his head. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you go in?"

"Kids… well, guys your age… were disappearing. Dad got delayed; he was still dealing with some werewolf or other... guess I just wanted to stop it, that's all, 'fore anyone else got hurt."

Sam watched his brother closely. "You know that you were... it's type."

It seemed to take a while for the words to sink in. Then Dean's eyes opened wide.

"You fit the description of the victims." Sam told him.

Shock painted a red stain across his brother's cheekbones, then bleached them white. "No. I don't."

Sam held his hands out in front of him, realizing he'd just pushed into territory Dean might not be ready to handle. "Okay." He said, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Dean pressed his fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm gonna lie down."

"Sure. You do that."

Two dull thuds sounded from the little bedroom as Dean toed his boots off. He dropped onto the bed, not assuming his normal 'Dean' sprawl, but curling up on his side. He dragged the pillow around his head.

Sam leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You can tell me you know. If you ever need to."

Dean's shoulders were rigid, his face hidden. "Nothin' to tell."

There was a long pause.

"It was just a ghost Sammy, right?" The whisper was so low, Sam had to strain his ears to hear it.

Sam closed his eyes, lower lip trembling, he took a breath. "Yeah." He huffed. "Probably was, Dean."

Dean nodded, his tousled hair crushing into the pillow. "'Kay. Just in m'head."

"Stop saying it's your fault. You were just trying to stop it. You were very brave. You're always brave."

"I knew what it was." Dean admitted quietly. "What Monk did. Thought I could stop it, y'know." He pulled the pillow in closer around his head. "Gotta crash."

"Okay. You sleep." Sam flicked the lights. "Do you need me to stay with you?"

"Nuh huh. You're not goin' out?"

Sam didn't wait for the answer. It only took him a moment to cross to the living room and drag the black mattress cushion off the futon. He chucked it on the floor next to the bed. "Nope, right here. Just don't step on me if you wake up to go pee in the middle of the night." Sam leaned over and laid a gentle hand on Dean's head. "I'm here. You know that."

"Uh huh…" Dean's voice was heavy with sleep.

"And if you ever decide...need to...I'm here."

His brother muttered something, the sound lost in the beginnings of a soft snore.

Sam laid down on the futon and tried not to cry.

 **Extra long chapter here. Thank you for the reviews! Iwokeup, lenail, fanpire, waitingforAslan, fevres, babyreaper, Michele, ngregory, bagelcat, Colbie15, Temperamental18, mckyd, shadowhuntingdd. You guys rock!**

 **Don't forget to check out celinenaville's _Missing the Mark_ and Mariamo's _The Aspen Spirit._**


	9. Chapter 9

**Almost Two Weeks Later**

John Winchester's black GMC truck roared into the dusty lot of Singer's Salvage, throwing a cloud behind it. John shut the engine off and slammed out. His eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep, his handsome face dark with worry.

Bobby Singer startled awake at the sound, a pugnacious frown settling onto his face even before his eyes were fully open. He dropped his legs down from the dusty couch, caught sight of his holey socks with a small measure of whiskey befuddled surprise and stuffed his feet hurriedly into his boots.

 _"Singer! You in there!"_

Muffled as it was by the door, the voice was familiar but unrecognizable. "Hold yer horses!" Bobby bellowed, irritated already by the unwanted intruder. "I'm comin'." He pulled open the door cautiously, his shotgun at half-mast.

John Winchester was standing there with a sad smile that revealed the dimples beneath his scruff, but that didn't touch his eyes. "Going to shoot my ass already?"

An automatic reflex born out of dislike leveled the shotgun at John's chest. "Sonofabitch! What the hell are ya doin' here, Winchester!"

He raised his hands placatingly. "Look, I know you and I aren't on the best terms... And believe me, I wouldn't be here normally but I need to know if you've seen my boys?"

The whiskey daze was fading fast. Bobby spluttered around his moustache. "You've got some balls, turnin' up here!" His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Seen yer boys! You tellin' me ya don't know where they are yerself?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know I have nerve but this isn't the time, Singer! My boy is missing!"

"Keep yer goddamn voice down or I'll fill yer ass full of buckshot."

John was unintimidated. "I know you hate me, and that's fine. But I know you care about my boys."

It was true. With a frustrated glare, Bobby lowered the shotgun. "More'n you do," he snapped.

The rebuke made John tighten his jaw. He looked as if he were holding back taking a swing at the old drunk.

Bobby huffed angrily for a moment, chewing over something in his mind, then snorted his agreement. "Well, you got that right enough, I think the world of them boys. We'll talk, but when this over, you and me, we got some sortin' to do."

"Whatever." John's tone was flat. "I just need to know if you've seen Dean or talked to Sam. Anything."

Bobby sighed. He reversed a couple of steps, gesturing at John to follow. "You better come inside."

John followed him in, the half torn screen door slamming behind him on the way in. "Dean ghosted on me after a hunt about a month ago." He began. "Wasn't too worried at first."

Bobby's tone was flat, hard. "Mebbe you shoulda been."

John ignored the jibe. "But he's been gone a long time. Figured he'd have only two places to go ...here or with his brother."

"And I'm guessing Sam's wasn't the first place you'd call."

"I _did_ call. The bastard isn't answering." John felt a surge of frustration at his youngest. "Guess he doesn't want to hear from me."

"Has his reasons." Bobby grunted. "Now more'n ever."

John cocked his eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bobby stood the shotgun in the corner and rounded on his visitor with frustration. "How in hell, just how in _hell_ did the great John Winchester manage to lose a soldier, huh? Answer me that!"

John bristled, squaring his stance. "Don't push my buttons, Bobby. I don't have time for this!"

"Now let's get one thing straight, Winchester. If it wasn't for the fact that at least one of yer boys loves ya, I'd be putting y'down right now like a rabid dog." Bobby's finger jabbed the air in front of John's chest. "I'm only talking to ya now 'cause of that boy of yours."

John rolled his eyes. "Dean's been gone for several weeks. Hasn't been answering his cell. I can't track him down. Can't get a hold of Sam. If you know something I don't you better damn well spit it out!"

Bobby plowed on. "What were y'thinkin'? Taking him to New Orleans of all places."

"So he _has_ been here! I knew it."

"How many times have we discussed that case!" A deep breath. "And no. He ain't. Heard what happened anyhow." Bobby's expression was thunderous. "I told ya, and told ya, keep them boys away from there. And so y'go and take _Dean!_ "

John's face fell with disappointment. "Then where the fuck is he? I guess I'm driving to Stanford."w

Bobby waved a dismissive hand. "Y'drag yer sorry ass to Stanford and Sam is likely to shoot ya."

John glared at him, his ire rising. "Alright! I don't need you to chew my ass on this! I told him not to go in without us. _Dean_ fucked up!" He replied heatedly. " _Dean_ disobeyed orders! A good man is dead because of that."

The older hunter shook his head, looking grim. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Ike was a good man. Wasn't Dean's fault tho', y'shouldn't've had him any where near that fucking perverted freak. How'd he even come to be in there?"

"It _was_ Dean's fault. He had direct orders to wait for us. He went in anyway. I knew something was wrong when he wouldn't answer his phone. I was a ways out still. Ike was closer. He got there first, pulled Dean out and..." John paused, looked away, clearly disturbed. He scratched his stubble. "Yeah. Wasn't pretty. And then Dean split on me before the corpse is cold!" He shook his head. "If he thinks he's gonna escape my wrath because I'm glad to see him he's in for a rude awakening."

Incredulity twisted Bobby's face into a grimace. He squinted at John. "You are one stupid sonofabitch. You ain't entitled to kids."

"Excuse me?" John had gone into Marine Mode. "You think I'm gonna let him fuck up like that and go AWOL on me?"

"Did it ever cross that stubborn mind of yours that mebbe he wasn't in too good a place after a coupla days in the clutches of that crazy…" The remains of Bobby's patience shredded. He took a deep breath, pushing into John's space. "Go AWOL! _Go fucking AWOL!_ Is that what you think! You ass!"

John stopped and looked at him, his face registering surprise. "Wait, back up. I thought Dean was down there for a few hours?" He was still processing that bit of information before he said. "And yes AWOL. I didn't give him permission to just take off."

"Y'telling me yer son was missing for days, y'didn't even notice! You're even stupider than I thought."

"I don't keep him in my hip pocket, Bobby! He does his own thing. He was supposed to meet me that Friday."

"Yeah, well he did his own thing and went after a monster y'should never have told him about."

John raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes he picks up a hunt alone here and there, sometimes he takes a break and he's out fucking God Knows Who."

"Figure he learned that from the best."

That pissed John off. "I _never_ set that example! I've always been discreet with my sex life." "

"Y'left 'em time and time again while you went off huntin'. How they supposed to know that ain't acceptable?"

John took a step back, his broad shoulders tight. "Because he's _not_ a moron, Bobby. Sam knew. Sam doesn't bed every girl thrown his way. Dean's a whoremaster and that's just who he is."

The wet shine in Bobby's eyes was as unexpected as it was unusual. "No wonder he run out on ya."

John watch the emotion in utter puzzlement and cocked his head. "Seriously? You're upset because I called Dean out on his recreational habits? Give me a break, Singer."

Bobby swiped at his eyes angrily. "You ain't the one needs a break."

" _What_ is your problem?"

"That's how you're gonna talk about y'boy, mebbe it's best y'don't find him."

John snorted, crossed his arms. "Kid hasn't been able to keep it in his pants since he was about 16! You _know_ that's true! You _know_ it!"

"And just why d'you think it was so easy for him, huh?"

The eyebrow went up again, incredulous. "Why was it easy? Have you _seen_ my son?"

"That's my point. And you still just don't get it, do ya?"

"What's your point? Enlighten me?" John's patience was gone. Here Dean was missing and they were somehow talking about his son's sexual conquests instead of tracking him down. "So help me, Singer..."

Bobby dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

"I didn't come here to discuss where Dean puts his dick. I need to know where the hell he is." John took another step, turned slightly. "And if you're holding out on me..." He left the threat unspoken.

"Well, he ain't here; y'can see that for y'self."

"Why are you treating me this way?" There was just the slightest amount of hurt behind the question. "You know what?" He spun on his heel. "I guess I don't need to know. I don't need this bullshit from you."

Bobby opened the door, a look of disgust on his face. "Just get outta here Winchester. But take a tip from me... next time you have a man down in the field, mebbe ya ought to see if he's okay when y'haul him out."

That stopped him. "I didn't haul him out, Ike did. Ike got there before me. I didn't even really know what went down."

"Ike got hisself killed gettin' Dean out, didn't that tell ya anythin'?"

John had stepped onto the porch. "Ike was busy _dying_ and Dean fucking took off on me!"

"Did it ever cross y'mind he couldn't deal with ya right then?"

The hurt showed more clearly on his face this time. "With _me?_ " He swallowed tightly. "I was trying to hold Ike's _guts_ in his body. Sorry I didn't stop to coddle my son." John wiped his hands on his jeans, his eyes suddenly haunted.

Bobby looked at him with sorrow, maybe even pity. "Mebbe y'should've."

"Are you kidding me?" The question was indignant. " 'Here, hold on Ike, your intestines can wait, I need to talk feelings with my boy in case they got hurt.' What is with you Singer? I have one man convulsing and mortally wounded, the other one was walking around helping me... so who am I supposed to give my attention to?" John had done nothing more than prioritize who needed attention first. He'd evaluated the situation like any soldier. "Ike first, _then_ Dean."

Bobby stared at him. "Walkin' around? God knows how." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about Ike, he was a good guy. He didn't deserve to go like that, hell no one does."

"And if Dean had stuck around I'd have triaged him too..." John cut himself off. "What the hell are you talking about? Why wouldn't he be walking around? What do you know that you aren't telling me?" John stepped closer. His boots sounded hollow on the wood.

"I can't believe he took off on ya that quick; he was out of it when Ike hauled him out."

"Well he did. I told you, the body was hardly cold." He stopped to recall the situation. "I had enough time to see Dean hadn't broken anything or was bleeding out and he took off. Literally _took_ off."

"I'm bettin' y'weren't reassuring him any. Threatening him mebbe? So he ran."

"Was I annoyed that he just got a man killed?" John ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah. Yeah I was. There was no need for any of this. If he just _obeyed_ orders and fucking waited for me."

"And I'm bettin' y'let him know it." There was no anger left in Bobby's voice, just sorrow. "He wasn't gonna hang around, not after what he'd just been through."

The hinting was starting to piss John off. "What did he go through? Fucking tell me!"

"No. You need to talk to yer son. If y'can find him."

"If he's alive!"

"He's alive. Least he was a coupla weeks ago."

"How do you know that? Couple of weeks is a long time in this business!" John rounded and punched the outside wall. His knuckles split.

"Yeah." Bobby dragged a hand down over his stubble. "It is."

John leaned his forehead against the wall, breathing hard.

Bobby watched him, his eyes sad. When he spoke, it was in a different tone. "We were friends a long time, Winchester; that's why you're still standing now and not laying in m'yard."

"Yeah." The admission was quiet. "Yeah, we were."

"So I'll tell ya this much. He ain't been here. Went to your Sammy. Stayed a coupla days and cut loose. Ain't heard of him since."

For the first time, John teared up. He swallowed, nodded, then turned away from the wall. "Figured he needed a few days to get over Ike. Then he stopped answering the cell."

"He's been in a bad place I reckon." Bobby dropped his hand onto John's shoulder and pulled him around to face him.

John's surprise at the gesture was unconcealed.

Bobby squinted at him with earnest eyes. "When y'find your boy, doesn't matter what's gone down between you and Sammy... y'need to cut Dean some slack, y'hear me? Just cut him some slack."

John's jaw had a slight tremor. "What happened to him, Bobby?"

"I ain't sure. Sammy, he ain't sure, dammit, I hope _Dean_ ain't sure. You know what that fella did..." Bobby's voice faltered. "…what he did when he was alive... that's why you was never gonna take the boys there."

"But...but it was a poltergeist. These things don't take form, Bobby. The latest victims, sure they were young men...and torn up but..." John looked at him measuringly. "Are you telling me what I think you are?"

"I don't know what I'm tellin' ya. Don't know m'self. Dean turned up at Stanford, didn't say a word to Sam at first. Turned out part of the spirit was still attached to some coin it'd made him swaller. We got that sorted... but there was more to it, but Dean took off."

John looked suddenly ill. "Coin?"

"Yeah, some old copper coin. Seems the poltergeist was kinda corporeal, enough to force him to swaller the damn thing. Poor kid kept hearin' its voice in his head."

"How is that even possible?" John put a hand over his eyes, squeezed them shut in pain and turned his shoulder to Bobby.

"Who knows what's possible?" Bobby patted his shoulder and stepped away.

"The coin...that was his signature." John said softly. "None of the new bodies had the coins. It was more like Ike...hack and slash."

"I know. I did the research with ya all those years ago. Dean wasn't hacked any; he'd been tied up and whipped, Sam reckoned."

John bit his lip, looking sick again at the way his train of thought had suddenly turned. "He fits the profile. He..." John's deep baritone broke off.

"Yeah. Yeah he does." Bobby rubbed at his forehead, looking pained.

John's voice was small, uncharacteristically vulnerable. "He's...he's m'boy, Bobby."

"Dean should never a been within a hundred miles of that place. Despite everythin', I figure he needs his Daddy. That's why I'm talkin' to ya."

"I don't understand why he went in. We were on our way behind him. Just a few days out." John circled around in place, hands in his dark brown carhartt. "He was working something local. Some hoodoo thing."

"Kids were being taken, he did what he'd been taught and went in to stop it before anyone else got hurt. He wasn't doing the hoodoo thing John, he went in days before y'got there."

"God damn it!" John rounded and punched the wall again until his knuckles were bleeding freely.

Bobby took a hefty slug from his hipflask and handed it over to John. "You're gonna have to talk to Sam. He ain't gonna like it, but…"

John took a long swig.

"He spent those coupla days with his brother; Sam knows more'n me."

John was actually trembling a little.

"The missing kids were torn up, Bobby. They weren't..." he swallowed. "There wasn't coins, that was like what he did in life."

"Yeah, well seems he singled Dean out for a little special attention."

John's eyes slid closed. "God... " he choked back a sudden sob. "It's just not possible...it's..."

"I know, Ike and all... but dammit, wish you'd stopped him running off like that… the kid is scared."

John nodded. "Thanks...thanks for the help. I gotta go to Stanford."

"I know. You want me to tell Sam you're comin'?"

John gave a derisive snort. "So he has time to shoot me?

Bobby huffed a tired smile. "Might shoot ya anyway." He paused. "Winchester? Ya find him, ya tell me, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah I will. Let me know if Dean turns up here." John paused in his descent of Bobby's rickety wooden stairs. "I hate you, but you're a good man Bobby." It was said with a little affection. Just a trace.

"Hate you too, jackass."

John's dark head disappeared into the truck.

Bobby cracked open a fresh bottle of whiskey, feeling he might need it. He settled on the couch, wondering if he should call Sam or not.

 **Thanks for all the spectacular reviews! wolfsbane0911, apenname, i woke up, fanpire, jolinar00, Phantasmagorical, kathy, ngregory, dean12brown, colbie15, babyreaper, lenail125, Minion79, shadowhuntingdd, mckyd, temperamental18... THANK YOU.**


	10. Chapter 10

The mud splattered bulk of the GMC looked completely out of place on the quiet Stanford boulevard. John Winchester sat in the truck for a moment, uncharacteristically hesitant, then he climbed out slowly, perhaps even a little painfully as old injuries and middle-age pulled at his muscles after the long drive.

He stomped heavily up the steps to Sam's apartment and knocked on the door with firm, even blows. There was no answer and John scowled, too exhausted, worried and impatient to suffer any further delays when it came to finding his eldest. He hammered at the door with more force.

A handsome preppy type cracked open the door, all blonde good looks, hair combed perfectly. He was wearing only a t-shirt and sleep pants, but even those looked like they cost money. He seemed puzzled. "Can I help you? It's really late." He left the chain on the door latched.

John looked at the young man briefly, dismissed him as unimportant and craned his neck to look around and over him. "Sam here?" The tone was as grim as his face.

"Sam. Ummm..." Logan paused, trying to figure out what this man could possibly want with Sam in the middle of the night.

John focused on him properly, fixing his dark stare onto the bewildered face in front of him. He spoke clearly, as though to someone a little short of intelligence. " _Winchester._ Sam Winchester. He here?" There was still no reply. John raised his voice just a little. "Is Sam here or not!"

Logan furrowed his brow, shocked and a little frightened by the tone. "Does he owe you money or something?"

"Is your hearing impaired? I know Sam lives here. I want to talk to my boy; now you get your fancy little ass moving and go _fetch_ him!" The deep thunder of John's voice left no-one in the immediate vicinity in any doubt that Logan's visitor was not in good humor.

"He's not here..." Logan began. He slowly started to put together the pieces, emerging from his surprised stupor. "Your boy?"

"My son. Sam Winchester."

Logan's blue eyes widened in surprise. "You're his father.?"

"Yeah, I'm his father." John squinted at Logan, almost daring him to say something.

"He's not here." Logan said. "I think he's at Jenny's."

"And where the hell is Jenny at? Never mind." John's patience ran out, fast. He straight-armed the door, bursting the flimsy security chain out of its fixings, took hold of the front of Logan's shirt and hauled him through the doorway. "You can take me. I haven't got time for this shit."

Logan squeaked like a cornered field mouse as John dragged him forward. The terror on his boyish face made it quite obvious that this was so far outside of any experience he'd ever had.

John set him down, tugged his shirt straight and gave him an encouraging nudge down the steps. He stopped at the bottom, looking up at the quaking Logan with a slightly puzzled air. "What is up with you? Man up and get walkin'!"

Logan started walking, barefoot, down the steps and onto the sidewalk. John stalked at his side, dark, deadly.

Logan led John a few feet down the sidewalk and pointed to a little yellow house on the corner with the front light on in the bay window. "She lives there."

"Huh." John nodded, dismissing him with a curt nod and turning his attention to the house. The bow window gave him a good view of his youngest entangled with some girl on the couch. Sam's shirt was rucked half-up, his face was buried in her neck.

"SAM! SAM WINCHESTER!" He hammered on the window pane with the palm of his hand. A few heads popped out of nearby windows.

The bellow made Sam leap up like someone had poured water on him. He half slid off the couch, sprang to his feet. John glowered at him through the window. The surprise on Sam's face would almost have been comical in different circumstances.

"Sammy. Get out here. I need to speak to you."

Sam turned to say something the blonde and then opened the door. "Dad..." he looked flustered at first. "What are you doing here?"

John didn't waste time on small talk. "Where's your brother?"

Immediately on the defensive, Sam rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I'm with him?"

"Mind your tone." His father reminded him in a mild voice.

Sam's lip curled into something defiant. "You don't own me anymore."

His father snorted, running his eyes over Sam's disheveled appearance. "Yeah." He sighed heavily. "Never mind. I didn't come to fight with you. Where's Dean?"

"I don't know." Sam furrowed his brow. "I thought he was with you."

John swore savagely, slamming the door frame with the flat of his hand. He shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. "When did you last speak to him?"

Sam didn't flinch away but he looked surprised at the intensity of his father's violent outburst. "I don't know. The phone. Like...three weeks ago maybe?" Sam said, still holding onto the door handle. "He turned up here and then disappeared."

"Three weeks?" John turned to glance down the street, a distracted expression on his face. The warm light falling on his face made the grey tone of exhaustion under his tan suddenly obvious. He turned back to Sam with a sick look on his face, his voice quiet, gruff. "I've been lookin' all over for him."

Sam's nose wrinkled in confusion. "He never went back to you?"

John shook his head. "No."

" _Goddamn it_!" Sam punched the wall, split his knuckles. "He told me he was going back to you."

Anxiety seemed to roll off his father. "Haven't seen him since New Orleans."

A darkness crossed Sam's expression. "Yeah."

"He came here, right?"

"Yeah." Came the flat answer. "Then he left and I gave him a call to check up on him a few days later and he said he was with you."

John stared at him, desperation on his face. "I need to know what went down Sam."

Sam shook his head.

"I've just come from Bobby's."

Sam turned and scuffed into his blue sneakers and walked down the stairs. "He's not at Bobby's either?"

A look of pain crossed his father's face. "Hasn't been there."

"Fuck." Sam's face betrayed worry.

"Yeah."

He rounded on his father suddenly, a righteous anger his his tone. "This is _your_ fault! All your fault."

John cocked an eyebrow at him, a dangerous look in his eye. "Exactly how?"

Sam put his hands on his hips. "And you're too clueless to get it, aren't you? Typical."

"Something you want to say to me?" John's voice was quiet.

Sam met his gaze calmly but john could feel the defiance simmering there. "There a lot of things I want to say to you."

"I haven't got the time for your whining. You want to say something, then save it 'til later."

Sam let out an exasperated huff. "Which is the opposite of what you just said, of course." Sam settled into a walk as he crossed over the sidewalk and started up the steps to his apartment. He twisted open the door, surprised to find Logan absent.

"Who is that sorry sonofabitch you got livin' with you?"

"Logan." Sam looked around. "What did you do to Logan?"

"Asked him for directions. Boy is too nervous for his own good."

Sam shook his head, shoulders tight. "You're something else."

"Sam..." John dragged his fingers through his tousled dark hair.

Sam turned around and there was no quarter in his gaze. No forgiveness. "What do you want before you continue to ruin my life?"

"I haven't come here to ruin your life. Came here to find your brother."

"I don't have him here, obviously."

"That's obvious. Look, I know you don't want me here, don't want to be here... but can we just put this on hold for a goddamn minute. Dean came here, right, you saw him..."

Sam softened a bit, his tone becoming more neutral, the angst gone. "Yeah. Yeah I did."

John pushed the apartment door shut, leaned on it with one shoulder. "And?"

Sam hesitated. "And he was pretty upset."

John winced. "Yeah. Keep goin'."

"Not much to tell." His son grew a bit distant, as if he were weighing how much to reveal. Sam and Dean and their damned secrets. "If he wanted you to know I guess he would have talked to you himself."

"Didn't have time to talk to him, he took off." John noted in a flat tone.

Sam's jaw tightened in that stubborn ready-to-fight way that was so familiar. "Yeah. I'm sure you'd have been really understanding."

"Wasn't the moment for sharing feelings; Ike was bleeding out, guts all over the car... Dean was half out of it..."

That changed the boy's attitude. He winced. "Yeah... I heard."

"I thought he'd only been in there a coupla hours..."

"I don't know how long he was in there." Sam said. "He seemed really confused."

John's features twisted. "Ike got him out, got cut nearly in half doin' it. Dean was out of his head, half conscious…" He sagged against the door a little, kneading at his forehead with long fingers. "I got 'em both away from there..."

Sam studied him measuringly, as if he didn't know whether or not there was some ulterior motive to the conversation.

His father looked straight through him, his eyes far away. "It was like 'Nam all over again. Ike, hell when I got him outta the car, wasn't anything I could do for him... he was in fucking agony." He focused on Sam suddenly, a wild look in his eye. "Had to shoot him Sam... and then when I turned around, Dean was gone."

Sam's expression was stricken. He swallowed the bile that tried to rise up into his mouth "You...you _shot_ him?"

John nodded, the grating of his teeth audible as he forced out the words. "Had to. Not the first time." He blinked away a glint of moisture.

Sam exploded. "He's not a dog!" He turned away from his father, breathing heavily. "You can't just... _shoot_... I..." he trailed off in a huff of breath through his nose.

John's eyes were dark pools of sorrow, pain. "He was beggin' me to. We'd both been there before, hell we promised each other back in country, if it ever came to it... you don't understand. Glad you don't."

Sam sat down quite suddenly on the futon, as if his legs wouldn't support him any more. He rubbed his hand through his shaggy brown hair. "No. No I don't. You killed your friend? I... " Sam shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I'm trying to wrap my head around...I..."

"Yeah. And then I buried him. And then I went back and finished that motherfucker once and for all. And then I found I'd lost my boy. Minute I saw Ike, him and me, we both knew how it was gonna go down."

"You should've seen to Dean first." The tone was defensive.

"Ike was dying! By the time I'd gotten Ike out the car, Dean was gone. I would've seen to him; I don't even know if he was hurt."

Sam's eyes were fiercely protective. "Maybe he didn't want to stick around to watch you _shoot_ the guy who just saved him in the head."

"Ike would've done the same for me. We made a deal a long time ago. I don't go back on my word, Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam said in an undertone. "Unless it involves us."

John stared at him with a resigned expression, recognizing the familiar complaint. "Just spill it son, 'cause you're not gonna be happy 'til you do."

"There's nothing to spill. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just saying that you don't keep your word to me and Dean. But I guess you do everybody else."

"I've never lied to you boys."

Sam's expression was one of disbelief. "I'll be home for Christmas. I'll take you to that ballgame. We can do that for your birthday."

John looked at him with pity in his gaze. "Didn't miss 'em cause I wanted to."

"Yeah. Well...whatever." Sam's tone went flat. "A lie is a lie is a lie."

John met the accusation coldly. "Peoples' lives matter more than a goddamn ballgame."

"Yeah." Sam scrunched his eyes closed and rubbed his temple. "Of course."

"Just you wait there, Mrs Price, I gotta go, sorry your kid's gettin' eaten… gotta take my Sammy to the ballgame. Get real."

Sam looked away for a minute. "What do you want dad?" His voice had that agitated bitchy tone he got when he was on the defense. "I have no clue where Dean is."

"Sam. I am not here to fuck with your life. You're out. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO DEAN!" John straightened, a look of near desperation on his face. "Just tell me son and I will be outta here."

Sam suddenly wrinkled his nose, and looked around room a little. "I don't like this apartment. Makes me uneasy."

Completely thrown by the sudden change in topic, John stared at him. "Huh?"

Sam seemed confused for a second, as if he were trying to focus. "Dean." He shook his head to clear it with a grimace. "Yeah. He showed up really off. Just... _off_."

At last they were getting somewhere. "What kind of off?"

"Just...you know how he gets. Trying to be jovial. And I don't know...off. Stiff." Sam's eyes darted around the room before he settled his gaze back on his father.

John nodded, understanding. "Hidin' somethin'."

"I got a look at his back, he had welt marks everywhere. And..." Sam broke off.

His father bit his lip. "Dammit. He say what happened to him?"

"He...he seemed really confused." Sam looked a bit emotional. "He was a _wreck_ , Dad."

"What did he say?" John persisted.

Tears rose into his boy's eyes.

"Please, son?"

Sam cleared his throat. "He had voices telling him...things. It was scary."

"Bobby told me there was a coin?"

"Bobby figured out that he had a coin in him so I made him take ipecac. And that got it out. And..."

"Ipecac... huh." John grimaced.

"Gross." Sam agreed. "But it worked."

"Where's the coin now?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "On the bathroom counter behind the soap dispenser." Then as if suddenly realizing he hadn't seen it in a bit. "I...don't...fuck."

John stared at him in disbelief. "Tell me it's not still here!"

"I wonder if Logan put it somewhere. He's a neat freak and I left it on the counter."

"Goddammit. And you're wondering why the apartment feels off! I taught you better than that!"

"You did!" Sam exclaimed, horrified at his slip in judgment. "This is on me! I got so wrapped up in how sick Dean was I left it there and then forgot about it."

"I knew this would happen. Getting out of the Life don't work; these things come after you and you forget the rules!"

"I was so distracted with Dean." Sam groaned.

John was already searching around the apartment, moving ornaments, books. "That's what I was so fucking scared about!"

Sam stood up. "Things didn't come after me, Dad. Dean brought it here."

"Yeah, and Dean is gone. And I have another son in this apartment!"

"Dean...oh God." Sam put a hand to his head as if it was finally sinking in how grave it was that he'd gone MIA for a few weeks. "He was so..."

His father froze, listening.

He shook his head. "He wouldn't tell me all of it but I didn't have to guess."

"Guess what?" John sounded winded.

Sam's eyes welled up. "I should have checked him everywhere but I was too scared at what I might find." His jaw trembled, his antagonistic front with his father finally crumbling. "I was really scared."

"You think I'm not?" A hoarse, wounded sound, unexpected from his father. "Why didn't you call me?"

Sam looked at him with disbelief and said nothing.

"Don't look at me like that... I don't deserve that."

"He was so bad." Sam said. "I haven't seen him that bad..."

"You shoulda called. I've been looking everywhere... where's he gone?"

The floodgates were open. Sam had stopped fighting him and was ready to spill. "He was shaking and..." he choked back a sob.

A gentle note entered his father's voice, one he hadn't heard for a long time. "And what Sam?"

The boy shook his head. "It was bad."

"You should've called. For Dean's sake, for your sake too. You shouldn't have had to deal with that alone. I should've been here. I would _always_ be here if you two really needed me."

"We've dealt with everything alone! Our whole lives!" Sam shot back, his voice pained. "We're fine, Dad."

"Don't look fine." John sighed heavily. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes. I do."

John scowled at him. "Know I wasn't there all the time Sam, but I did best I could. Wasn't exactly normal circumstances."

"Maybe your best wasn't really good enough." Sam replied, the bitterness lacing his voice evident.

"Your best wasn't good enough either, son, or your brother would never have been hunting alone."

Sam's mouth dropped open in utter stunned shock. _"Don't you try to turn this on me!"_

"It's as much your doing as mine."

Sam's chest puffed out in righteous anger and he stepped up into John's personal space. "Bullshit, Dad! _You_ are the father! It's _your_ job not mine!"

"My _job!_ It's more than just a goddamn job! But you're right... it was my place to get him outta there. Couldn't have stopped him going in, did that himself. But it was me should've been the one gutted... not Ike." The shadows on John's face were suddenly deeper.

Sam's face was disapproving, though his tone was softer in response. "You know, sometimes I think I could forgive you for some of the stuff that you did to me but when I think of Dean I just can't."

"What in hell do you mean by that! Treated you boys the same, much as I could."

As always his father knew how to push his buttons without even trying. "Look at him, Dad! Take a good look at how he's turned out."

John's tone was dry. "I look at him all the time, being as he's with me most of it. He's turned out a fine man, better than I ever was."

Sam's face betrayed his disgust at his father's obliviousness. "He was a functioning alcoholic at about sixteen. He's slept with more women than I've shaken hands with." The young man's lips pursed. "He's defensive. He can't open up about anything. He's emotionally crippled...and you let him drop out of school."

"Don't you speak about your brother like that!" There was real anger now in John's voice. "Our life isn't easy, you had the same upbringing, you're none of those things!" He snorted. "Doesn't look like being here has improved you any, you still act like a hysterical princess."

"Hysterical?" Sam shook his head, his bangs obscuring his eyes. "I can't even, Dad... I just can't."

"Then DON'T." John's delivery was flat. "I didn't come here to discuss this shit. Didn't come here to get in another fight with you. Just want to find your brother."

"Well I don't know where he is."

"I know what you think of me, you've said it often enough. So just for once, just for now, let it go." John paused, his voice softening. "Please."

"He's hurt and he's alone out there and..." He cut himself off mid-sentence, his chest still puffed up in a subconscious fighting stance. "Let it go? Whatever. Whatever. Can't get through to you anyway. You never give a shit what I think."

His father looked at him with sad brown eyes. Shrugged. "If that's what you want to believe..." He resumed his search of the apartment. "Let's find this goddamn coin and I'll get outta here."

Sam wasn't going to let it go. He never could let it go. He pressed the matter. "What else am I supposed to think? Huh?" He was on the defensive.

John leaned his ass against the kitchen counter, looking at his youngest with weary eyes.

Frustrated at the silence, Sam whirled to go to the bathroom, and started tearing apart the drawers, loud in his anger.

John followed slowly, checking in drawers, under covers.

His boy stopped suddenly, paused, furrowed his forehead as if he was in pain.

John observed him with a keen gaze. "Sam? You okay there?"

"Yeah." But the voice seemed uncertain.

"What's up?"

"Yeah...maybe." A shiver went through him. "I feel...cold?" Then he paused and put his hand to his temple, face scrunching with pain. "Dad!"

 **Sorry for the long time updating. The site seemed to have a ton of glitches last week. Because of that, just letting you know for those following that Mariamo had updated Aspen Spirit and celininenaville had updated Missing the Mark. Thanks for the reviews, guys.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

_"Looks like it's still here." John shoved the flask at him. "Holy water, drink it, maybe it'll help."_

 _"Okay... yeah..." Sam's hand shot to his head. "NO...Dad!" It was a plea._

 _John began to search again. "Talk to me son, tell me what's going on."_

Sam sank into a crouch, eyes closed.

His father pulled a pouch from an inner pocket and sprinkled salt liberally over Sam's hunched body, then drew a salt circle around him. "Keep your ass in there!"

The boy flopped onto his backside in the circle, trembling with fear.

John tore his way around the room, all care gone, upturning cushions, the couch. "This friend of yours, neat freak you said?"

"Yeah..." Sam replied distractedly from his captive spot.

"Where's he put coins, if you leave 'em around?"

"I don't know. I'm usually hard up for cash so I don't tend to leave money around."

"Hang in there." John began to tip out storage tins and containers.

Sam held his head again, wincing, the pain bordering on migraine level.

"Stay the fuck away from my boy!" John snarled savagely, rounding back over to Sam and sprinkling holy water around him. He found an old coin purse, dumped it eagerly; it was empty. "Fuck! Sam... think!"

 _"Dad!"_ The tone held real terror.

"What?"

"I'm still feeling it in the circle!" He was holding his head again. "It's like it's inside my mind." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam…" John stepped inside the circle, pulling his son to his feet. He took his face in his hands, sought eye contact. "Look at me."

Sam's eyes were glazed. "Don't let it, Dad!"

His father's tone was reassuring. "It's not really here son. Nothing is going to happen. I won't let it. It's lying. I ganked the son of a bitch back in New Orleans."

"No." Sam's boyish features crumpled. "No, it's not!"

"All he's got left is his voice."

Sam whimpered a little.

"Dammit, Sam! _Listen to me!_ "

"I'm seeing it though. What it wants to happen!" Sam's hands fisted into his father's jacket, his young face contorted in an expression of misery.

"I'm here and it's _not_ gonna get you." John gave him a little shake. "Push it away with your mind; you're strong son. It can't do anything. Tell it to fuck the hell off." He cast a glance around the circle, muttering to himself. "How is it getting through the salt?"

 _"Dean!"_ The name peeled out of him. "Oh god!" Sam started to cry. There was no reserve, no macho front, just streaming tears.

"Sam… son... hang in there." John's brow furrowed. "Is the coin in your pocket or something?"

"I don't..." Sam panted, confused, unable to concentrate at all, tormented by a vision of some sort.

"Don't let it get to you. _-Fuck off you bastard!"_

"My wallet?" The voice was tentative.

"Where is it?"

Sam furrowed his brow trying to concentrate through the noise in his mind. "Back pocket."

John fumbled the wallet out, ripped it open. The coin fell out onto his palm and was instantly slammed down on the counter. In one swift movement, he drew his iron knife and stabbed it through the center of the coin, impaling it onto the surface.

Sam swallowed convulsively.

His father took a handful of salt, freed the coin and grabbed hold of it. "I got some battery acid in the truck... be just a minute... no goddammit, you come with me!" He took hold of Sam's arm and hauled him along.

Sam followed blindly, almost dry heaving, the contractions of his stomach making him stumble along, his father the only thing keeping him from falling on his face.

John ran him down the stairs, holding onto his biceps with a strong hand, reassurance flowing out of his mouth. "It's okay now son, gonna be okay." When they reached the truck, he propped Sam up against the side while he pulled out the container of acid. Within seconds the coin was sinking into the fluid and the top of the container was sealed tight.

Sam stood weakly, shaking, eyes closed.

His father took him by the shoulders, steadying him. "You okay there, buddy?"

Sam's lip trembled, lending him the illusion of being a frightened child.

John pushed the sweaty bangs aside and took hold of the back of his son's neck with a calloused palm. "Hey..." His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "It's okay buddy, I'm here, it's gone now."

Sam looked miserable and so young. So impossibly young.

"Sammy... come here." John visibly softened into a different man, someone Sam vaguely remembered from his youth. He pulled Sam into a hug and held him tight. "Shhh… it's okay, buddy."

The young man fell into the embrace and buried his head in his father's shoulder. John rubbed his back, soothing, calming.

"S...sorry," Sam hiccuped.

"What have you got to be sorry for? Wasn't your fault."

"I'm falling apart after a few minutes and Dean was with that thing for...days."

His father's voice caught. "That's why I gotta find him, Sam. But right now, you're not okay." His face twisted in a bitter grimace of self-reproach. "I thought I'd finished that bastard back in New Orleans… and I let it get to my boys. Of all people... my boys."

"I'm fine." Sam replied in an attempt to man up, even though he was shaking.

John huffed, a resigned smile dragging at his lips. "Yeah, we all say that... guess you're a Winchester through and through alright."

"It's not fair!" Sam shouted. "Why do things keep happening to Dean! It's not fair, Dad!" He pushed against the solid shoulder in a fit of childish temper.

"Think this one happened to you."

Sam rubbed his cheek against the rough material of John's weathered Carhartt jacket. He was still a little shaky. "Yeah. Okay Dad." He shook his head to clear it. "I feel like I got mind raped." He paused at the unfortunate word choice.

John sobered immediately. "What did you see?"

Sam's tone grew desperate, pleading. "Dad, we gotta...we gotta make Dean think it was all in his head, okay?" He grabbed the edge of his father's coat sleeve like a child begging for a lollipop. "Please? I don't care what the truth is, he's gotta think it was in his mind, okay?"

His father's eyes were full of pain. "I'm guessing he probably knows if it was in his head or not."

"No." Sam let him go, considering. "I don't know if he does. He was really confused. He can't know, Dad. He can't."

A calloused hand ran wearily through the dark scruff of hair. "Wish I knew where he was at."

"I should have followed up with him again. Couldn't get him to stay and then I figured he just needed some space." Sam drew a breath. "Just...just let's make him think it in his mind, okay? Lie to him. Lie if we have to." Sam met his father's eyes, suddenly every inch a man. "He doesn't need this...he doesn't."

"I hear what you're saying… but what if he knows something, thinks we're brushing it off?"

"We don't brush it off. We just try to assure him it was a mind fuck." Sam visibly winced at his unfortunate choice of words. "I mean maybe it _was_ in his head..." he said, considering. "But those belt marks were real. The way he was moving and unable to... " Sam closed his eyes, forced the word out. " _Sit_ and function...that was real." He paused. "Still don't feel well," he admitted.

John cast an arm around his shoulders, finding he had to reach up a little to do so. "C'mon, let's get you sitting down." He set off at a slow pace back towards the apartment door.

Sam nodded and allowed himself to be ushered inside and towards the futon. He flopped down, his teeth gritted. "Just not meant to see some things, you know?"

His father folded himself down into a low chair; he looked drained. "Maybe you'd better tell me."

Sam's posture betrayed his anxiety. "No. _Please. I can't."_

John picked his words carefully. "Might be easier to deal with Dean if I know what went on…"

His son swallowed and looked away. "I know you. If you went on the hunt you read the descriptions."

The color seeped away from his father's face. "Did, did that happen? Did you _see_ that!"

Sam kept his gaze turned away. "I saw some stuff happening to me and, then flashes of boys I didn't recognize, and then Dean..."

John's throat moved convulsively. He leaned forwards in the chair, pushing for information he didn't want to hear. "Dean?"

"Yeah." The tone was distant. "Definitely Dean."

John was on his feet; swallowing heavily.

"It told me that," a tremble started in Sam's hand, he tried to hide it on his lap. "He was the prettiest with the most fight."

His father side-stepped into the bathroom, dropping awkwardly to his knees before the toilet. The splatter of vomit hitting the bowl with violent force was clearly audible.

"He should never have been there..." The choked voice was barely recognizable.

Sam had gone still on the couch, his head turned down. "Maybe, maybe it was all a lie." His voice was not convinced.

John made no reply. He stayed on his knees, his boots wedged uncomfortably up against the side of the bath as he cried silent, wrenching sobs into his hands.

"Dad?"

A broken whisper answered him. "I was always afraid of that."

"Afraid of what?" Sam's voice tried to shore up John's crumbling reserve. "John Winchester isn't afraid of anything, right?" Sam came over and crossed his arms, looked down at his father.

"For you boys, some of the places we lived..."

"Yeah." Sam studied the tiled floor. "Kinda dodgy. Some spots. Few close scrapes. Dean being the pretty boy didn't help in some of those bars."

John sat back on his heels, flushed the toilet, flopped sideways onto his ass on the bathroom floor. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Taught him to fight good for more than one reason..."

"But he knew how to fight, Dad. How to carry himself. He was always okay."

"He's not okay now." His father's eyes were wet as he kneaded brutally at his own forehead.

Sam studied his father and his eyes softened, his brows furrowed. He gave John a glimpse of his sweet boy that he hadn't seen in years. "You okay?"

John wouldn't meet his gaze. He shook his head. "That motherfucker hurt my boy... and if I hadn't got here today, he would've hurt my other boy."

The door to the apartment flew open, slammed back against the wall and rebounded with force. In that instant Dean, breathing heavily, was next to them, his eyes wide.

"Sam! Dad! What the fuck, Sam! Did you hit him?!"

Sam whirled in shock. "Dean!"

John's breath went out all at once in a harsh gasp; he struggled unsuccessfully in the limited space to pull himself up from the floor. "Dean!"

"Where were you?" Sam asked.

Dean looked shaken, his eyes shunting from one to the other. "I was doing my own thing…" He hauled his father onto his feet. "…'til I got a call from Bobby, telling me Dad was headin' here." He studied his father anxiously. "You okay there, Dad?"

John didn't answer but pulled him in with a hard desperate grip. Dean returned the hug, anxiety and tension leaking from every pore.

"Why aren't you answering your phone? I thought you were dead!" His father's voice had pitched into something scared and vulnerable.

"I'm not dead." Dean twisted his head to peer at his father up close. He frowned. "Hey man, this isn't like you."

"I've been looking for you for a month!" Suddenly ire seemed to overtake John's relief. "No word... nothing! You just take off after that hunt and ghost on me!"

His eldest stepped away, dropping his gaze as guilt flooded over his features. "Just needed some space, that's all." He turned to Sam, taking in the stress and tear stains. "Sammy, you okay?" His voice deepened. "Have you guys been fighting?"

John snorted softly.

Sam was standing to the side of the reunion, his chest puffed out, on the balls of his feet, ready to launch at his father at the slightest sign of threat to Dean.

"Sam." Dean insisted, incredulous. "Have you been… crying?"

Sam dashed the drying tears on his cheeks. "A little."

Bewildered, Dean turned back to his father, taking in the wreckage of his face. "Dad? What the hell is goin' on?" He kept bodily in between them, one hand on John's sleeve, the other on Sam's arm.

Both men looked away before John spoke. "The family reunion of our dreams, huh? Nothin.' Me and your brother can fight it out without you, kid."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Why are you here? In Stanford."

"Looking for you!" John tugged his sleeve out of Dean's grip. "I've been trying to track you down for a week. Even went to Singer's." He took a breath, composing his features. "I will never forgive you for making me talk to that old bastard."

His eldest stared at him. "So why did you go to Bobby's?"

"Thought maybe you were there. Bobby wasn't exactly going to answer a call from me." John looked pointedly at his youngest. "Neither was Sam. So I had to drive to both places."

Sam still looked protective. "Don't shout, Dad. He's here now."

"Not shouting, kid." John replied quietly.

Suddenly Dean was all awkwardness, deflection, his voice dropping to a mumble. "Lost my cell." He cleared his throat, took a breath. "So, what's got you all fired up?"

John's dark eyes welled and his voice dropped into an angry scold. _"Don't ever go AWOL again on me, you hear me?"_

"I'm sorry, sir." Dean looked desperately to his little brother for some explanation.

"We were worried about you. And...I kinda..." Sam dropped his gaze guiltily.

Dean's face went still. "You what?" He asked carefully.

"I forgot to get rid of the coin and Dad had to clean up the mess." He winced.

The reaction was that of a desperately scared man; it clashed violently with the familiar smart ass image as Dean turned chalk white, his eyes wide as he stared around the room. "Coin?" His voice sharpened, a note of panic in the background. "It's still here?"

John shook his head. "No we just took care of it."

"Sonofabitch! You _just_ took care of it!" Dean turned horrified eyes towards his brother. "Did, did it…?"

Sam's lip trembled, even if his voice was steady. "It's been a bad day..."

Dean looked pleadingly at his father, wanting, needing to know the truth. "Dad, what happened?"

John remained silent and looked to his youngest. Sam bit his lip and looked down, hiding behind his shag of brown bangs. "Got in my head for a while, that's all." A shake ran through his legs and he swallowed.

John put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed with rough affection. "You're okay, kid."

Dean watched them, frowning, puzzled, not sure what had gone down between them that had changed things to such an extent that the caring exchange was even possible.

"He had a bit of a rough time with it."

"Dammit, Sam!" There was anger now in Dean's voice. "Why didn't you get rid of the friggin' thing?"

Sam's answer was sheepish, chastened. "Logan must have cleaned it up and I totally forgot."

"Fucking Logan."

Sam looked up with a bit of defensiveness. "Come on, man. Leave Logan alone."

His brother wasn't even listening. There was a plea in his eyes as he turned to John. "Is it gone?" The simple question was emphasized by the clenched fists and rigid posture.

"Yeah son, it is. I made sure it's gone. Unless dissolving it in battery acid doesn't work for some unknown reason." John turned his gaze to him, any trace of anger gone. "Dean...why did you do this to me? I've been so worried about you. You know better."

Dean took a deep breath, struggling for control and trying not to show it. "Hey... come on old man, you've been talking to Sam too long." The attempt at flippancy was completely off-key.

"I'm serious." He replied, the baritone holding a bit of a rebuke.

Sam glared at him. "Dad..." the word was was an unspoken warning. _'Don't you dare hurt my brother.'_

Dean swallowed, speaking quietly. "Thought you might want me out the way for a bit... y'know…Ike." He looked up at John, misery in his green eyes. "I'm really sorry, Dad."

John softened once more. "I know you are, kid. So am I."

His son dropped his eyes. "It was my fault... Ike… it's on me."

"I got so many things on me it's like I'm dragging around a fucking building-" John started.

"That shoulda been me." It was said in an undertone.

 _"Don't you say that!"_ His father exploded in indignant anger.

Dean flinched.

"Don't you _dare_ ever have the audacity to say that to me again!" John encroached on Dean's space, thoroughly affronted.

Sam pulled up his full height and stepped forward. "Lay off, Dad."

John turned on him, ready to go at someone. "Back off Sam."

Dean looked wildly from one to the other, bodily inserting himself between them again. "C'mon, knock it off!"

"You know what? Fuck you both!" John backed off, feeling unwanted. "I'm not in the mood to be ganged up on. You're both safe, I did my duty." He whirled off and stepped toward the door.

His eldest's flimsy grasp on any semblance of control shattered. "Dad? _Dad!_ Wait up!" There was something childlike, frantic, in the shout.

John jogged angrily down the steps and out the front door, his boots heavy on the wood. Dean was right on his heels, almost falling on the steps. "I just got here!"

"And I'm just leaving." The voice was brusque. Dean obviously didn't need him. Sam didn't want him. His boys were better off on their own.

Dean's voice rose, hoarse. "Stop! Wait! Can't you two just get along…Dad, please!" He snatched at his father's retreating figure, catching hold of the back of his jacket.

John stopped and turned with the action. "What?"

"Don't… jeez, just don't…" The words were forced, choppy; Dean's breath coming harsh, fast.

Sam started down the steps after them, still in protective mode. He halted as he spotted Logan in the distance. "Shit." He started to play interference, heading to cut off the impending disaster.

Behind him, his brother doubled over abruptly, hands on his knees, his breath sawing in and out with a painful whistling sound.

Sam heard it. Turned his attention back. "Shit, Dean? Dad you got him?"

John waved him off. "I got him son, get that kid outta here."

Sam paused, brow furrowed in distress. "Be nice to him, Dad!" He stayed to watch the interaction for a moment, saw to it that his father being kind and jogged to Logan.

Dean swayed, gulping for air. John bent over, concern radiating off him at the uncharacteristic behavior. "Dean. Buddy. Hey." He set his hand on his boy's back.

Dean reached up with one hand, caught at his jacket again, fingers white with the force of the grip.

"It's okay, boy. Calm down. What's wrong?" The baritone was soft. Calming.

"Just… don't… go...okay."

"Okay. Okay. Not going. C'mere." John hauled Dean to his feet by his jacket. "Breathe, kiddo."

Dean swayed, panting, a look of desperation on his pale face.

John set a big hand on the back of his son's neck. He's leaned forward, his nose almost touching Dean's. The hazel eyes were honest. "I'm right here. Listen to my voice." He gave a weak smile. "Don't pass out and make me carry your ass up the stairs. I'm too old."

Dean's eyes met his as he fought for control. Gradually his breathing slowed. He shook his head in a dazed way, his eyelashes fluttering a little as he won his battle to fill his lungs with air.

"Easy boy." The hand tightened on the scruff of his neck. The deep voice was soothing, measured.

A few more breaths and Dean straightened up a little. His eyes were unguarded, frighteningly vulnerable. "You just got here." He blinked hard, trying desperately to man up in front of his father.

John tucked the smaller man under his arm, and started back up the stairs, eager to get the spectacle out of the view of the neighbors. He closed the door behind them. "Hey..." His tone was gentle. "What was that all about, huh?"

Dean shook his head, swallowing, unable to find the words to explain his behavior even to himself, let alone John Winchester.

"C'mon." John straightened the disheveled futon and pulled Dean onto it next to him.

A flush of embarrassment at his own weakness spread slowly over Dean's face. It made the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, the greater prominence of his cheekbones, suddenly all the more obvious.

His father pulled him into his chest a bit, and sat with him quietly, letting him feel the rise and fall of his breath. "Sorry I lost my temper back there. I was just so damn worried about you and then Sam going through that was not exactly a calming experience."

Dean nodded. Wordless, his jaw tight with suppressed emotion and guilt.

John leaned in and kissed the top of his boy's head.

Dean stared at him, shocked at the uncharacteristic display of affection.

"Been a bad month for all of us."

"Yeah." It was just a strained whisper. The expression on Dean's face showed just how bad it had been.

 **Thank you for all the great reviews! I, Celine, have been obnoxious about answering them but I will as soon as I get the chance. Please feel free to drop us a line, we love it.**


	12. Chapter 12

Dean closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, concentrated on the drag of air into his nostrils, the forced exhalation through a tiny gap in his lips. In red darkness behind his eyelids, he gradually became aware of the warmth of his father's chest against the back of his left shoulder, the weight of John's arm around his shoulders, grounding him, keeping him safe. It was a long time since he'd felt safe. Sometimes it felt like forever.

Gradually Dean slowed his breathing to match the rise and fall of the chest behind him. Warmth crept down his back, into his chest, weighed heavily on his limbs. It was quiet in the apartment, just the hiss of his own breath and the creak of the futon as John shifted slightly. He was so tired, couldn't even remember when he'd last slept properly. His head nodded as exhaustion dragged him down and John tightened his arm a little, pulling him closer. Dean drifted, slumping sideways into the familiar hold that had made him feel safe as far back as he could remember.

John remained still, hesitant to move, afraid that any slight shift might wake his son and shatter whatever moment of peace his eldest had momentarily stolen.

Dean's breath caught; he mumbled and opened drowsy eyes, focusing blearily on the dark stubble of John's chin. Dad. Still there. He sighed and drifted away again.

John shifted his shoulder back and gently guided Dean's head and neck down to rest against his thigh. His son's cheek lay heavy against his lap as he stroked his calloused palm over the spiky hair.

Time slipped by, slowly, nowhere near enough to turn exhaustion into mere weariness. Dean shifted a little, whimpered, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.

John remained silent and watched, eyebrow cocked as a frown creased his son's forehead, something about the set of his handsome features suggesting fear as the speed of his respiration increased.

John moved his hand to stroke the broad shoulder soothingly, loathe to wake him.

Dean gasped, a distressed sound bursting from his lips.

"Dean..." John said gently.

The fear was no longer a suggestion; terror crept over his son's face as he began to twist and struggle.

"Hey..." John pressed down a little and restrained his son's wrists to keep him from striking out. "Dean...Hey...kid..."

Dean was instantly awake, pupils blown wide with panic.

"Hey...easy." John tightened his hold on his son's wrists.

The green eyes shunted back and forth, found John, focused properly. "Dad?!"

"Yeah. It's me." John released him.

The white of fear was replaced by a pink stain of relief and then a darker spread of embarrassment at finding himself lying with his head on his father's lap.

"Just a nightmare."

Dean sat up, scrubbed a hand awkwardly over his face. "Yeah."

John wrinkled his nose. "You okay?"

His son tried a stiff grin, oddly reminiscent of a corpse's smile. He rubbed his arms as though he was cold and stood up slowly.

"Yeah fine. Tired I guess." Dean took a shaky breath. "Hey, let's go to a bar or somethin', get a drink?"

"You wanna talk about it?" John asked from his position on the futon. "...of course you don't..." He gave a sad smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Maybe we should?"

Dean shifted his boots, the sound of the soles loud in the little apartment. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he evaded John's eyes. "I could use a drink."

John rose and began to look around in the cupboards of the little kitchenette. "Gotta be something in here."

Dean grimaced. "It's Sam's apartment. Sam and LOGAN…probably got wine or some crap like that." He raked his fingers through his hair, a plaintive note entering his voice. "I could use a pint of Jack."

His father ignored him, still searching until his search ended by turning up a bottle of wine. He held it up by the neck, amused. A flicker of a smile crossed his son's face.

John shook his head with a reluctant smile that showed his dimples, somehow reminiscent of Sam's. He set the wine back down on the counter and turned around.

"C'mon Dad." Dean rattled the Impala's keys in his pocket. "Might even buy you a beer..."

"You know I used to have a lot of nightmares." John began.

Dean dropped his chin, turning his gaze to a random piece of fluff on the floor, staring at it as though it held the answers to every question in the world. He swallowed. "Yeah. I remember."

John raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

That brought his son's eyes up, genuine surprise on his face. He nodded.

"I was hoping you were too young. Damn kids always remember the stuff that you don't want them to, and never remember the stuff that you do."

Dean frowned, sounding slightly offended. "I remember okay." He shrugged. "Remember the nightmares too."

John shook his head. "Had a lot before you were born too."

His son watched him closely. "The war?"

"Yeah..." John turned around poured himself some wine. His shoulders stiffened before he drained the glass almost as quickly as if it were a shot. "Your poor mother had to sleep in a separate bedroom for a while. Because otherwise she just wouldn't get any rest. Not sure why or how she put up with me."

Dean shifted, as uncomfortable as ever when it came to emotions. "I, er, I guess she loved you." He firmed his jaw, his stance suggesting the question that followed was not as casual as his tone implied. "You still have nightmares?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. But not as often." John turned around and leaned against the counter. He looked at his son pointedly. "Listen. When something really bad happens to you, you never entirely get over it I don't think." He crossed his ankles as he stood, elbows leaning against the formica. "But it gets a lot easier. You know? Like...it comes in waves...and the waves are huge at first and you think you'll drown."

Dean was very still, tension radiating off him as he listened.

"But then they get smaller. And you kind of learn to go with them. And then it calms down altogether for a bit." John kicked off against the cupboard and stepped forward. "Until something throws a rock into the pond. So it gets a lot easier. It does."

Dean swallowed, his voice not much more than a whisper. "How did you get through it, at first?"

John shook his head and his voice went soft. "I don't know. After your mom..." he swallowed hard, visibly emotional at the thought of Mary. "It was you kids. But after Nam." He halted. "I have to think about it."

Dean took a hesitant step forwards, peering at him with concern. "You okay?"

His father gave him a sad smile, full of whiskey and bad memories and sleepless nights. He nodded.

His son looked away, bit his lip, guilt in his tone. "Didn't mean to upset you."

"You're not upsetting me, Dean." John leaned on the counter again. "Your mom helped me a lot. Helps to have someone with you." He gave his son an astute look. "You might have to lean a little hard on someone else at first, kid. And that's okay."

Dean shrugged that off, visibly dismissing the importance of his own feelings.

"God I wish you had your mother. This was supposed to be her realm, you know? I could take you out and play ball and teach you to fish. And she could deal with this kind of stuff."

"What stuff?" The slight rise in tone and the accompanying dismissive gesture didn't sit well together. "There's nothin' to deal with here. You mean 'cause I ghosted for a bit? I just needed to deal, with Ike, that's all." Dean looked him squarely in the eye. "I'm okay now. I'm fine."

His father took a step toward him. His gaze unwavering as he tipped his chin down. "Dean, I know what happened to you."

The bravado was swept away as his son blanched. "NOTHING happened."

"Just us here, son."

Dean shook his head. "It was some poltergeist, ghost, whatever… chatting shit, that's all." He jammed his hands into his pockets as they began to shake.

John took a step forward, nodded, his tone patient. "I saw what it did to Sam. And that was about 20 minutes as opposed to your several days."

"Several days? No. No." Dean shook his head, emphasizing the denial. "No. You were there when... when Ike got me out. I was okay, right?" He stared at his father, something desperate in his eyes. "You'd have SEEN if I wasn't alright."

"Didn't have much time to see anything. Was dealing with Ike." His Dad's gaze grew dark, as if he were seeing something he'd rather not have to recall. "You took off really quick." He scratched his beard. "I'm glad you went to Sam."

"Jeez." The breath went out of Dean in a hoarse wheeze, his eyes filling suddenly with tears. "I'm so goddamned sorry about Ike. That's on me." He dashed hard at his eyes with the thumb and finger of one hand. "I had to get outta there. I didn't know where to go… man, you were so pissed."

"I wasn't mad at you. Mad at the situation." John's teeth flashed in a not quite smile. "I'm glad you came here."

Dean's voice was suddenly bitter with remorse. "I shouldn't have come here; all I did was fuck things up for Sammy. I'd already fucked things up for you."

"No. You needed help and you knew it." John bit his lower lip. "So you came to the person who was in the mental state to be able to help you. It was a good choice."

"I should've just kept driving..."

"Dean. You still had that coin in you. You needed help. And if you'd kept driving," he paused, cleared his throat, almost choking on the words. "You'd probably be dead by now."

"So I brought it here to Sam, good move there Winchester." Dean ground his teeth. "Better for me to be dead."

John's eyes flashed with an indignant anger. He closed the gap between them in a single stride, grabbed for Dean's collar, and hauled him up a little. "Don't you dare say that!"

There was no resistance, just hopelessness. "Might as well be..."

John drove the younger man back a few steps until the back of Dean's boot touched the wall. "What is that supposed to mean? Huh?" He gave him a little shake. "Answer me."

Still no resistance, no _Dean_ there at all, as his son closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the wall.

John's fingers tightened on the leather and he shook him again. "Dean!"

The full mouth trembled. "What d'you want me to say Dad?"

"Might as well be? What does that mean? Huh?" John asked almost angrily, his breath on his son's cheek.

Hurt green eyes met John's and slid away.

"Answer me. I mean it!"

The green gaze was back, anger flaring suddenly. "What? What do you want to hear, huh?" Dean fisted the front of his father's shirt, his voice deepening. "That I'm no good for anythin' anymore? That I've lost my nerve? Can't sleep, can't fucking play pool cause I'm too scared to have someone stand behind me? WHAT!" The anger exploded in a violent shove that sent John reeling backwards. "FUCK YOU! I don't need this SHIT! Why can't you all leave me goddamn alone!"

John staggered back and lurched with the motion before he caught himself. "Yes! That is what I need to hear! So I know what's going on with you!"

Dean's fingers dragged through his hair, his face tight as he turned away. "There is NOTHIN' goin' on with me! NOTHIN' okay?! No hunting, no drinking, no sleeping, no fucking girls... NOTHIN'!"

"Look at me." The tone was firm.

His son shook his head, his voice hoarse. "No. I don't want to see what you really think of me."

John softened, cocked his head. "Why would I think any different of you?"

"I let you down Dad. Guess I'm not the son you wanted now, huh?"

John took a rough hold on Dean's bicep and spun him around. "HOW DARE YOU?" He took Dean's jaw in his hand and tilted his son's head up so that he had to meet his father's eyes. They held no quarter.

Dean flinched, his gaze caught and held by the dark eyes.

"You're gonna stand there and tell me that my SON is a disappointment? That he's not worth anything? Huh?" The tone held an indignant frustration.

"Might as well put it out there Dad." Unbidden tears welled in Dean's eyes. "Just say it. Doesn't matter anymore."

"Do you know that if any other man told me this stuff I would put him through a fucking wall?" John asked, his ire still lit. "That if any other man told me my son was worthless I'd break his face? Huh?" His fingers tightened to keep Dean from escaping. "So why do you think you have the right to say that to me?"

"I've gotta get outta here." Dean tugged ineffectually at John's wrist, seeking freedom but with no power in the movement. "I can't go back… everyone'll be able to see… everyone'll know... I CAN'T!"

"Who is everyone, son?" His father's dark eyes gentled at the distressed admission. His grip loosened and John cupped Dean's jaw in both of his hands, still keeping him steady, but the gesture infinitely tender. "Hmm?"

A single tear spilled; it slipped down and disappeared into John's hands. "You, Sam, Bobby... chicks, everyone..."

His father snorted out a dismissive huff. "Me, Sam, and Bobby aren't telling anybody, kid. You know that."

His son's eyes were a raw wound. "They'll know… I know. Every time you look at me, that's all you're gonna see." A hitched breath. "I don't want to live like that."

"Oh Jesus, Dean." John's face scrunched as he choked back tears. "You're so wrong." He leaned his head in closer until he was touching his forehead against his son's. "You're so wrong."

The hot breath of the broken whisper could be felt as much as heard. "All those times you told me, be careful son, and what do I do? I go and fuckin' offer myself up to some psycho freak. What does that tell you about me... huh?"

"It tells me you were impulsive."

Dean shook his head, freeing himself from John's grip. "It was all my fault, I deserved it."

"No! NO you do NOT!" John's hands dropped onto his shoulders, gave him a little tug. "Don't you dare say that to me about yourself! If it was your brother who rushed in without backup would you say that he deserved it?" John's face twisted into a rictus of pain. "Would you say that Sammy deserve to be tied up and whipped and..."

"Dad, please…"

"What are you asking for?" His father said, taking a step back, running his hands through his dark bangs. "To let you quit? To leave it alone?"

"Don't say it, please…"

John stopped, brows knitted together. "That you were assaulted?"

His son's breath came out in a little wounded huff.

John responded to the distress with paternal concern. It won out over his military training. "You're gonna be okay. I promise. I promise."

Dean's face crumpled. "Nothin's okay. Nothin's ever gonna be okay now."

"That's not true..." John assured, watching his son's stricken expression. "It's not."

"I can't get it out of my head." Dean's knees seemed to fold of their own accord and his back slid down the wall with a rasp of leather against plasterboard until he was seated on his ass.

"Okay, hey." John let himself drop into a crouch before him; he paused a moment considering, remembering his promise to Sam. "Maybe it's all in your head. Doesn't mean it's not real to you. Wanna tell me about it?" His tone was something almost unfamiliar, cajoling, careful. "I'm here?"

The hurt little boy wanting his Dad to make sense of everything won out against the hard ass hunter. Dean shuddered, walls crumbling to dust. "I don't remember it all… it grabbed me, threw me downstairs… I must've hit my head? I was in and out, seemed like days…" Dean kneaded at his own forehead, the memory physically painful. "He forced this coin down my throat; I thought I was gonna choke…" He broke off, eyes locking desperately onto John. "You didn't come. I kept yellin'… and he, he hurt me Dad. But you didn't come." Silent tears slipped free, each one stabbing John in the heart even more than the words.

"I was a few days out! I was coming kiddo." John reassured, still holding his crouch.

"Ike got me." The words tumbling from white lips. "He cut me down and… Ike got cut open and I couldn't do a friggin' thing to help him. It's all my fault."

"No." John shook his head. "No, it's not."

"'M sorry Dad, so goddamned sorry."

"I know you are. I am too." His father's big, calloused hand touched Dean's cheek, soothing, gentle. "Dean. I know it was scary. I know it seems really real. I know some aspects were real. But partly you're just reliving the victims' memories, that's all. Okay?"

Dean looked at him, bewildered. "Memories?"

"Yeah." John's hazel brown eyes were honest. "That's all. Sam relived some of yours. The presence in the house that you were in was so strong because so much has happened there that you were just sort of replaying it in your head."

His son was confused, expressions chasing across his face. "My back…?"

"Poltergeist don't take on a corporeal form." John's knuckles brushed over the slight bit of stubble on his boy's cheek. "Throwing a belt around is easy enough. But assault? REAL assault? It has no body, Dean."

John's hand dropped down and he rubbed at his son's shoulders, kneading the tension roughly and trying to coax Dean back into standing. He didn't move so John took a stab in the dark. "It had a form in your memories?"

Dean blinked at him, struggling to understand. "Yeah."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't seem real. Doesn't mean your body can't react to it like it WAS real." John stood back up to his full height and looked down at his son. "You know how you can watch a movie and see some guy get kicked in the nuts and your balls hurt?"

Dean nodded again, a little frown creasing his forehead, eyes far away as he sorted through his memories, trying to untangle reality from hallucination. He took John's hand, allowed himself to be pulled back onto his feet.

"It makes sense. Same thing. Just a lot more vivid...but it's still scary as hell. I get it. I do."

Dean was frozen in place, mind racing. He shrugged, his shoulders tense. "You think the freak… that shit was in my head?" He didn't look convinced.

John didn't answer directly, instead he took Dean's shoulders and carefully turned him around in place so that his back was to him. "Yes I do..."

Dean went with the movement, baffled.

"Have you ever heard of flooding?" His father asked from behind, standing closely in his space. So close his belly almost brushed the back of Dean's leather jacket.

The change of subject threw his son. He squinted over his shoulder at John. "Huh? No."

"It's a PTSD treatment. It's a desensitization process."

Dean scowled at him. "Whaddya talking about Dad?"

John wrapped his arms around his son from behind, pulling him flush against his body with the movement. "We're gonna solve your fear of having people standing behind you."

The unexpected physical contact turned Dean to a state of frozen iron. The little remaining color drained from his face.

John leaned in and spoke next to his ear. His breath trailed across his son's earlobe. "It's just me. Not gonna hurt you." He squeezed a little tighter. Arms wrapped around Dean's chest, almost a lovers' embrace. "It's just me."

A tiny whimper broke out of his son's lips. He struggled, weak, exhausted movements drained of strength by terror.

John gritted his teeth with the movement and kept him pinned, provoking the fear response he was beginning to get. "It's me, kid. It's just me." He could feel the thumping race of Dean's pulse under his arms locked around the broad chest.

His son was shaking, crying silently.

"Stay with me, Dean. It's just me. It's your father." The dark voice was soothing.

"Dad…" Sweat popped out along Dean's forehead, across his upper lip. "Don't let him Dad, please."

"I'm not letting anyone do anything." John said patiently, walking Dean a step forward and pressing him a little against the wall. "Not doing anything else to you. Just letting you ride this out."

Dean sagged in his arms, almost passing out. John tightened his grip, holding him up.

"I got bit by a dog once. My dad made me pet every dog in the neighborhood. Never scared of dogs after that. Can't have you scared of this in the field. It will get you killed."

His son struggled to keep his footing, his movements weak and uncoordinated as he tried to concentrate on the rumble of the deep voice behind him. "Dad?"

"Yes. Right here."

Dean's hands locked onto his forearms, partly for support, partly to prevent his father turning him around to face him. There was a certainty in his tone, despair in the words. "I wanna believe it's in my head, I do... but..." His breath caught. "I saw it after, what he'd done..." The whispered admission took the last strength from his legs and he slumped back against John, fingers digging into his arms as his wrecked voice forced out the truth. "I looked."

"Shhhhh." John whispered, taking the sudden weight. "It's okay." He fought to keep his voice steady, his face twisting, his own heart suddenly pounding from hearing Dean say it out loud.

In his arms his eldest was wrenched with grief, crying out a month of fear and hurt silently, crying so hard he could barely breathe.

Eventually there was a broken whisper. "Don't tell Sammy, please."

"Oh Dean." His father squeezed him and then turned him back around, pulled him into his chest, breathing heavily with emotion, trying to think of a lie to soothe his boy. His arms wrapped firmly around Dean's back, holding the shaking form silently.

"Please don't tell Sammy, just tell him it was all in my head." Dean's breath hitched, caught, steadied. "Are we okay? I need to know."

John snorted wetly. "Us? As in you and me?"

"Yeah. Us." A little strength returned to the broken voice.

"Son I would never look at you any differently."

Dean leaned into him for a moment, his forehead resting against John's collarbone. Cold, sweaty face close to the pulse of anguish beneath his father's skin. He dragged in a couple of deep breaths, steadying himself. "Okay. Okay. Now this is what's gonna happen." He took a shaky step back, raising his head and fisting his father's shirt as he stared into the hurt brown eyes.

"I am gonna put this away, put it down somewhere so deep. I don't want to think about it again, and we aren't gonna talk about it again, ever. Y'hear me?"

John listened silently, a little stunned by the sudden show of resolve.

Dean's expression hardened, the lines beside his mouth suddenly deeper. "And Dad... this is never gonna happen to me again. 'Cause if someone tries it... I am gonna put 'em down."

John's eyes crinkled at the corners in an approving little expression. He nodded, proud. "Yes sir."

Dean had hold of his jacket, gave it a little shake, trying to convince them both. "I'm a Winchester, and I can take fucking anything, right?"

"Yes." The father replied, steel in his tone. "Yes you can."

His son stared at him, willing him to understand that right now, this is how he needed it to be. He cleared his throat. "Right old man. I need a drink." He swallowed, pulled his shoulders back. "You gonna buy me a whisky?"

"God you are amazing." John said with a smile and a nod. "Yeah. I'll buy you anything you want right now."

The grin was forced, like ice cracking unwillingly under the warmth of a spring thaw. "Yeah I know. Just keep telling yourself that."

"You are."

Dean's walls were suddenly back. Impenetrable but fragile as the finest bone china.

"Whisky old man. I want whisky." He tugged the keys from his pocket. "You comin'?"

"Yeah." John put his hand on his boy's back and walked a step after him. "You make me proud, son. So often." He swallowed as Dean stepped away and down the stairs. "Don't tell you that often...EVER... I'm sorry."

His son was already in the car. ACDC blaring from the speakers.

John cast a glance at his truck; he guessed Sam knew that as long as it was parked outside the apartment they would be back soon. He opened the passenger door of the Impala. Dean said something; it was hard to tell over the sound of the music and John thought he might be mistaken, but it sounded a bit like "Love you Dad."

John watched him, wanted to believe he'd be okay. He really did. He wanted to believe the sudden show of resolve. But he didn't quite.

He slid into the passenger seat, his son behind the wheel. A strange reversal, even now. The flooding had allowed Dean to break down and get some of his pent up pain onto the surface, but the abruptness with which he'd reached a conclusion troubled him. If Dean fell apart again, which John placed money on him doing, he'd have to be there to pick up the pieces.

.

 _ **To be continued… love to know what you think so far.**_

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	13. Chapter 13

Sam walked through the apartment door and tossed the keys on a low table by the foyer. "Dean?" He asked tentatively.

Dean looked up from his position on the futon. He sat forwards a little, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, 'm here." He looked drained, as though the events of the last few hours had wrung him dry emotionally.

"Dad's truck is gone." Sam said, avoiding looking too closely at his sibling and instead moving to the kitchenette to grab a drink.

Dean regarded him with a slightly wary air. "Yeah, he's pulled out. Got some place to be."

Sam gave a derisive snort and rolled his eyes. "That's great." He didn't hide the bitterness in his tone. The undercurrent that said _'he's always got some place else to be.'_ Sam looked at Dean over his can of soda and leaned against the fridge as he closed it. "You okay, man?"

The answer was a gruff positive, despite the slightly defeated expression. "Yeah." Dean gestured at the entrance door. "Is Logan...?"

"Is Logan coming?" Sam finished. "Nah."

Dean looked a little puzzled. "It's his place, right?"

"I asked him to give us some space for a few days." Sam walked a few steps, closing the gap between them, his thumb toying with the aluminum tab on the can.

"He's okay with that?" Dean's mouth pulled up in a wry smile. "Mebbe he's not a total ass."

"He's a decent guy. He really is."

Dean paused for a moment and then continued in a quiet voice. "I'm not gonna be here for a few days, Sammy."

Sam's expression appeared crestfallen. He didn't hide it, or if he did he was failing miserably. "No? I mean you just got here."

"I was kinda in the middle of somethin', y'know. Burned rubber getting here when Bobby called." Dean gave a rueful grin. "Didn't want you and Dad tearing chunks outta each other."

"Middle of what?" Sam asked pointedly.

The grin slipped as Dean made a vague gesture and broke eye contact. "Hunting...research. You know the score."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think you're okay to be hunting?" The tone was skeptical.

His brother's gaze was suddenly fixed on him as a small frown pulled at his forehead. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam was to the point as always. "It means you're a wreck, Dean. I'm not sure you're in the mind frame to hunt."

A stony expression slid over Dean's face. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry but it's the truth." Sam looked at Dean's features and softened a little. "I'm just worried about you, man."

Dean didn't respond. Sam took another sip, swallowed slowly and asked. "Is Dad...was Dad okay to you?"

Dean sighed heavily and stood up, running his fingers through his hair in a distracted way. "Yeah he was fine. Look, Sam, I know you're worried, and I appreciate it man I really do, but I'm gonna have to deal with this one myself. And Dad helped, okay? He really helped."

Sam finished off his soda and circled back to the fridge. "Wanna beer?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure."

Sam tossed him one, then broke one open himself, clearly deciding that soda wasn't gonna cut it.

"Dad helped?" The tone was a little skeptical. "...good to hear."

The sharp and distinctive smell of beer reached Dean's nostrils as he cracked open his own drink. He took a sip, eyeing Sam over the top of the can. "Dad's been through some heavy shit himself." There was no mistaking the defensive tone on their father's behalf.

"Nam." Sam replied gravely. "Yeah, yeah I know."

"I know you guys..." The words petered out and Dean huffed a tired sigh, looking suddenly a little lost. "He's not so bad Sam."

Sam looked away and there was a hurt behind his eyes that almost startled his brother with its intensity. "Yeah."

"You okay now?" Dean's stance changed slightly as he put his own problems aside; somehow it made him look approachable, softer.

" _Me_ okay?" Sam asked, perplexed. It startled him out of his thoughts.

"Sounds like you had quite run in earlier, with..." His brother fingered his throat in an unconscious gesture. "...with the coin."

Sam looked away, again, his jaw tight. He didn't answer.

Suddenly it was all concerned big brother. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Sam dodged the question. "How much did Dad tell you?"

"Pretty much everythin'." Dean was watching him carefully.

An embarrassed flush crept into Sam's cheeks.

"I'm sorry you went through that. I should've gotten rid of it before I left."

Sam blinked, his eyes a little glassy. "That was nothing, Dean. Nothing compared to you."

Dean sucked in a deep breath. "It's over now."

"I..." Sam began and then swallowed it down.

Dean's next words were slightly forced, but delivered in a more up-beat manner. "Hey, just imagination most of it, right? Me and Dad... we talked some about it."

Sam perked up, thinking that maybe his father had listened to his advice."Yeah. Yeah it is... Me- I just got images and voices in my head. It didn't do anything to me. Dad was right there the whole time."

Dean looked distinctly relieved. "Yeah? So, just another nightmare, huh?"

"Yeah nightmare." Sam took a sip of beer. "One of many."

Guilt wrinkled the elder Winchester's forehead. "I shouldn't have brought it here."

"Dean don't be stupid." Sam's tone was annoyed at the predictable self-flagellation. "You needed help, you came to me."

"Yeah and put you in danger. I should've stayed with Dad."

"I wasn't _in_ danger."

"You would've been, if Dad hadn't got here."

"I wasn't in danger. It had no form, Dean. It's just a stupid..." Sam huffed, at a loss for a definition. "I don't know what the hell it was." He shook his head, itched his nose. "I was just an idiot who didn't get rid of the coin before my neat freak roommate found it."

"How'd you end up sharing a place with Logan anyhow?"

"Well they don't let you stay on campus as an undergrad during break, to my surprise and horror." Sam shook his head at his own naivety. "Found myself out on my ass first year here. Logan's family took me in for the holiday."

Dean lifted an eyebrow, thinking what a contrast he must have seemed after Sam. "Bet he was real pleased when I turned up."

"He...you just got off on the wrong foot is all. He really helped me when I was stuck. He's a nice person, really."

His brother snorted, amused. "Don't think me and Logan'd ever be on the right foot. But hey, I guess that's okay, it's not like I'm gonna be seeing him again."

"Dad showed up and fucking manhandled him apparently." Sam said over him and then paused as the implications of Dean's words hit him. "Never gonna see him again..." His eyes went soft, pleading. "What are you saying?"

Dean shrugged easily. "Well, I ain't gonna be callin' in here and upsetting the guy all over again. Plenty of other places in Palo Alto."

Sam's face showed a worry. "But...but you'll see _me,_ right?" His tone revealed that he knew he wouldn't see Dean no matter what his big brother promised.

Dean glanced around the apartment, almost as though he was seeing it properly for the first time. "You got a nice place here Sam, best if I don't wreck it with Logan." He met his brother's eyes. "Sure, I'll be around."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, trying to hide his emotions behind his mop of hair.

"Hey. Don't look like that man. I'll be around. We'll get a beer or somethin'."

"I'm glad...glad you came to me, Dean. I really am." Sam whispered." A beer?" he asked. He swallowed, nodded and then took a sip of his bottle to hide the subtle tremble in his lower lip. When he'd gotten himself under control he looked up. "Dean... you gonna... You gonna be alright?" His tone betrayed his doubt.

Embarrassment stole across his brother's face. "Thanks Sam, for everything."

"That was some heavy shit."

Dean met his gaze. "I'm gonna be okay. Quit worryin' about me."

"You'll kick it in the ass. You always do." Sam said with false confidence. "You're..." he trailed off, unable to say it.

"A Winchester, Sammy. Can't let the monsters win, right?" Despite the words, it was obvious Dean was tightly wound emotionally.

"No. No. Course not." Sam stood next to him.

Dean stared at him, almost as though he wasn't sure what to say next. "So..."

"So?"

"Your coursework get done in the end? You were kind of in the middle of it when I turned up last time. You didn't get in trouble or nothing?"

"Dean... stay with Dad." Sam said quietly. "Don't be alone for a while." He paused, mid thought, switching gears. "Huh? Yeah. Yeah I got through midterms." He gave a small smile. "Takes more than near death and a lot of vomit to throw off my GPA."

Dean looked surprised, absorbing Sam's earlier comment. "I'll catch up with Dad; always do."

"Well you weren't with him all that time I _thought_ you were." Sam set his beer on the floor. "We were both worried about you man."

Dean shrugged. "Just needed some time, that's all." He rolled his shoulders loose inside his coat and smirked, assuming his bad ass cover as easily as slipping on a new shirt. "We'll, we're all caught up now... one big happy family."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Yeah... me and Dad...Nice reunion... You don't have to deal with everything alone you know."

Dean put his beer down with a decisive move. "I don't."

Sam's fingers tangled in Dean's coat sleeve.

"I wish you guys got along better." Despite the badass front, Dean's face betrayed his unhappiness.

"Me too." Sam's fingers tightened on the leather before they let go. "God, me too."

His brother sighed. "Well I guess that's a start."

"He just. He doesn't get me at all. I don't get him. I don't understand why he's gotta be a jerk all the time. I don't understand why he hates me so much."

A shadow crossed Dean's face. "You're a lot alike. He doesn't hate you, Sammy. That's just something you told yourself."

"I mean I know I haven't lived up to his standard of manhood...but I'm a nice guy." Sam seemed a little affronted by the comparison. "I'm nothing like him, Dean, he can't stand to be in the same room with me for more than ten minutes."

Dean backed away slightly. "Looks like he stuck around when it mattered."

The puppy eyes were watching him again. "Yeah. Yeah he was a help."

"He's Dad. He's good at what he does, hell, he's the best. He's just not too hot at communicating y'know?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah. The Winchester Way again."

Dean closed his eyes briefly, feeling again the raw strength of his father's hold, the desperately needed reassurance that he wouldn't be thought any less of, as a man, or as a son. He swallowed hard, staring at Sam from under his lashes. "He says the right things sometimes. It's what we are Sam, Winchesters."

"He sure doesn't say the right things when I'm around... I'm glad he helped you though." Sam studied his older brother's face earnestly. "I wanna help. Is there anything you need from me? Anything at all?"

"Nah, I'm fine. You've done enough."

Sam's look betrayed that he didn't believe him.

"I'm gonna let you get back to your life."

Sam didn't say anything but his jaw tightened and his eyes grew bloodshot before he blinked it away and manned up. He encroached on his brother's space again.

"I'll swing by now and then, buy you some decent food." Dean reassured him.

Sam threw his arms around his neck in a crushing embrace.

Slightly startled, Dean hugged him back, slapping him a couple of times in a manly way. "Thanks Sammy."

Over his brother's shoulder, Sam clenched his teeth and whispered. "Be safe."

"Yeah, you too man. Get some goddamned salt lines down."

"Call me if you need me"

"You too."

Sam broke away. "Don't need salt lines here." He kept the uncertain knowledge that neither of them would call the other to himself.

His brother frowned. "You need salt lines everywhere, you know that. Tell Logan the salt is some special shit from Antarctica, cost a fortune, he'll be all over it."

"Then he'd be asking me why I'm throwing it on the floor. Instead of cooking with it." Sam watched Dean skeptically, then gave a weak smile. "Cause that's what normal people do with salt. Weird I know."

Dean smirked. "Tell him all the stars are doin' it, or royalty in the middle east or somethin'. These rich kids believe shit like that."

Sam snorted in reluctant amusement and then gave him a genuine smile, his dimples carved deeply into his cheeks. For a moment he looked like Dean's little Sammy, the years torn away.

His brother grinned at him in response, moving towards the door. "So... I'm gonna split."

Sam stood torn, wanting to say _I love you_ but not knowing how to find the words. "You... take care."

Dean gave him a slightly wistful look, turned it into a cheeky, brotherly wink and stepped through the doorway. "You too, Sammy."

Sam turned away to brush away tears and clear his throat, alone again in the exile of his choosing.

There was the sound of boot soles on the steps, the rumble of the Impala and Dean was gone.

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